How Did This Happen?
by FraidyCat
Summary: Charlie's life takes an unexpected turn.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: A very brief introductory chapter for you. This shall be a multi-chapter, for those of you in whump withdrawal. Fair Warning: RL is somewhat whumpish right now, and I cannot promise tremendous length or my usual insanely fast updates. Do you still love me anyway? I always do the best I can...(sniff)**

**Title: How Did This Happen?**

**Author: FraidyCat**

**Disclaimer: Characters from the wildly popular CBS drama "numb3rs" are respectfully, and without personal profit, borrowed.**

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**Chapter 1**

Amita stood in a silent shock that eventually gave way to anger.

"You asked me to stay," she accused. "I gave up Harvard for you — for us! How could you do this? How can you humiliate me this way?"

Charlie leaned against the desk in his office, arms wrapped around his midsection. He thought he might be sick. "I'm so sorry...", he started. His words abruptly ceased when she slapped him. The sound of flesh-on-flesh reverberated around the room like a gunshot. The ring on her pinky finger ripped into the flesh just below his eye. He closed his eyes against tears, but did not reach for his face. He knew he wasn't crying because of the tiny cut.

She slapped him again. "I _forgave_ you." Her voice hitched and he knew she was fighting tears herself. "When you told me about that weekend, I thought it was my fault for not making up my mind fast enough. I forgave you! I am such an idiot!"

He opened his eyes, and felt his own tears escape. He tried to reach for her. "No, no, Amita..."

She interrupted again. "Not as big an idiot as you are, apparently." She spoke bitterly, and her voice rose in anger. "My God, Charlie, you have three doctorates. She brought one of her students to the statewide high school science fair. How can she teach high school science, and know nothing about biology? How is it you both became so educated and stayed so STUPID? Neither one of you considered using birth control?"

She knocked his hand away and he closed his eyes again. "I...I told you when it happened. We didn't mean...it's not like we planned... You and I had that argument right before I left, and I wasn't sure..." He opened his eyes to see her back away and cross her arms over her chest.

"Exactly," she answered, looking at the floor. She had lowered her voice, but the hissing quality made it somehow sound more threatening. "You **and I** had an argument. A silly argument about an obscure theory in quantum relativity. The thing is, after you left, I didn't sleep with anyone. And I sure as hell did not get pregnant."

"I never wanted to hurt you," he murmured, and she raised her eyes and laughed in his face.

She turned and put her hand on the doorknob, then looked back at him. "No? Well congratulations, Charlie. You're doing a damn good job anyway."


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Characters from the wildly popular CBS drama "numb3rs" are respectfully, and without personal profit, borrowed.**

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How Did This Happen? Chapter 2

Don took a bite from his turkey sandwich and watched Charlie push his soda glass back-and-forth on the table.

He had known something was seriously wrong when Charlie had called and literally _begged_ him to meet him for lunch. It had almost sounded like he was crying, and Big Brother Eppes had successfully K-O'd Agent Eppes in a matter of seconds. As it turned out, he wouldn't have had any difficulty getting away for lunch anyway — his entire caseload was stuck on "Hurry Up and Wait" — but he didn't even stop to figure that out. "I can be somewhere in half an hour," he had answered without preamble. "Where are you, at school? Where should I meet you?" Don had not even asked Charlie if he was all right. Somehow, he had known that he wasn't.

Although it was Charlie who had suggested lunch, he failed to order any food. The cola before him sat untouched, the glass sweating, beads of water occasionally dropping onto the table. Starving as he was, having not had any breakfast, Don still barely tasted the turkey. He was really only shoving it in his face because Charlie's face was scaring the absolute hell out of him. He wished his brother would spill it already, even as he bizarrely hoped he never found out what was upsetting Charlie this much.

Don took another bite and studied the small cut under Charlie's eye. He must have been upset this morning already, and cut himself shaving, or something. Don felt immense relief and total apprehension when Charlie began to speak.

Charlie kept his eyes on his soda. "Can you get some personal time, in the morning? I know it's a lot to ask, and short noticeÉ" He finally lifted his eyes to Don's. "I need you."

Don swallowed a chunk of turkey without bothering to chew it and persuaded it down by chasing it with water. He returned his glass to the table and wiped his mouth with his napkin. "Of course," he answered, setting a personal record. For the second time that day, he did not even think about work. "That's why they call it personal time." He tried to speak gently. "What do you need, Buddy?"

Charlie took a deep, shuddering breath, and broke eye contact. He spoke into his cola. "I'm sort-of getting married."

Don felt his normal personality kick in, and he actually got a little angry. He picked up the sandwich again and prepared to stuff it in his mouth. "Is that all?", he asked, first. "Geez, Charlie, you had me pretty freaked. You've only got a month before summer break, why don't you and Amita wait until you can do it right?" He saw mayo dripping from the corner of the sandwich and quickly took another bite.

Charlie was still talking to his cola. "Not Amita," he said, almost conversationally. "Her name is Colleen, I met her about two months ago, slept with her, and she's pregnant." Terrified of what he would see, Charlie still refused to look up at Don, although he heard the sound of surprise Don made. Charlie waited for more.

He just didn't expect it to be a stranger's voice. "Sir! Sir, can you breathe? Are you all right? Can you get any air at all?"

Charlie looked up then, and saw Don's face, twisted and an odd shade of red. Bits of bread and lettuce were falling out of his open mouth. One hand was clutching at the table, the other was waving in the air, and he was shaking his head frantically.

Charlie's eyes widened and he stood. "Oh, my God, Don!"

The stranger standing behind his brother lifted Don to his feet. He wrapped his arms around Don's waist, placed a fist at the bottom of Don's rib cage, and applied a quick and upward thrust. The larger man used so much force, Don's feet momentarily left the floor — and a chunk of turkey left his throat, flying out of his mouth and bouncing off Charlie's nose. Charlie paled as Don's saviour settled his feet back on the floor. "That it? You okay now?"

A gasp of air followed the turkey, and Don bent slightly at the waist, resting both hands on the table top. He continued to breathe raggedly. "Holy... My ... Th-Thank-you, thank-you..." He straightened and turned slightly, his breathing already easier. He reached out and clasped the stranger's hand in both of his own. "I can't thank you enough, really ..."

The man smiled and used his free hand to clap him on the shoulder. "Happy to help, son. Happy to help. Just glad you're all-right." He looked over Don's shoulder. "Hope your friend doesn't go down too hard. I didn't do too well on the broken bone part of the first aid course."

Don whipped back and saw Charlie swaying on his feet, his eyes glazed, his own breathing now more rapid than Don's. He leaned quickly across the table and tugged on Charlie's arm. "Whoa, whoa, Buddy, sit down before you fall down." He raised his voice and barked an FBI command. "Charlie! Sit down!" With the encouragement of a waitress who had suddenly materialized behind him, Charlie did as he was told. Don kept a grip on Charlie's arm and carefully lowered himself to his own chair. He thanked the stranger who had saved his life again, and assured the waitress and oogling diners that everything was under control, now. When everyone finally drifted away, he shook Charlie's arm. "Chuck?" he hissed.

He began to pinch the skin under Charlie's jacket, and Charlie's eyes slowly began to focus. Half-heartedly, he tried to pull his arm back. "Donnie?"

Don could barely hear him. It didn't even qualify as a whisper — mostly, he read his lips. He began to pet his brother's arm as if it was a well-behaved dog. "It's okay now, Charlie. Everything's okay."

Charlie blinked rapidly, and a single tear slid out of the corner of one eye. "My God, Don, I nearly killed you! And then I panicked and didn't help you!" He ripped his arm from Don's grasp and buried his face in his hands. "I'm a horrible person."

Don could tell several people were still looking at them. He quickly stood, reached in his pocket, withdrew a $20, and dropped it on the table. He crossed to stand over Charlie. "Come on, Buddy," he encouraged quietly. "Let's get out of here."

Charlie let himself be led docilely out the door. The two walked silently down the sidewalk for almost a full block. Finally, Don tried again. "Charlie, I'm all right. If there hadn't been someone else there to help me, I'm sure you would have put your panic aside." Charlie sighed, and stopped walking. Don stopped as well. "By the way," he added, running a hand through his hair, "what the hell did you say in there?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer Continues. As Does Our Tale…**

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**How Did This Happen? Chapter 3**

As fate would have it, the brothers had started off walking in the direction of Don's parked SUV. He noticed it now, and dragged his silent companion toward the vehicle.

He placed Charlie in the passenger seat as if he were taking him home from the hospital – with great care, and compassion. Then he jogged around the front bumper and slid in behind the steering wheel. He turned as far sideways as he could in the seat, so that he was facing Charlie; or at least, Charlie's profile. The younger man was staring directly ahead, stonily out the windshield.

Don cleared his throat. "Don't misunderstand this, Charlie. I'm…proud of you, for taking responsibility…but people just don't run off and get married anymore when this happens." Charlie didn't throw a punch or get out of the SUV, which Don took as a positive sign. He continued. "There's no stigma anymore. If she wants to keep the baby, you can still be an involved father without marrying her."

The curly head turned slowly toward him, and Don shut up. Charlie regarded him for twenty agonizing seconds – Don counted. Then he shook his head. "We've talked all about this, several times. Neither one of gives a shit about 'stigma'. We both want to be full-time, hands-on parents. We don't want to share custody – we want to share a child." He spoke with a conviction and tenderness that almost made Don feel like a voyeur. "_A child_, Don. Do you understand that my child deserves both parents? His Uncle, and Grandfather? His other Grandparents, and his Aunt, on Colleen's side…can't you see that the baby should be everything?"

Don struggled to maintain the voice of reason, even though something inside him was urging him to be unreasonable. "Charlie," he said gently, "that's a great attitude. More people should have that attitude. But if your baby deserves all that, doesn't he also deserve parents who love each other?"

To his surprise, Charlie smiled. "He?" He started grinning like an idiot. "I've been feeling that it's a boy, too."

Don felt himself starting to grin back, and actually had to wipe the smile off his face with the back of his hand. Behind it, he spoke sternly. "Charlie, focus. Love. You don't love her." He had a sudden thought and dropped his hand. He looked at Charlie, stunned. "Do you?"

Charlie sighed and turned his head back so that he was looking out of the windshield, again. "I don't dislike her. I don't really know her well enough to either love or hate her. It was one night at that statewide high school science fair I helped judge, in Sacramento."

Don calculated, albeit not as rapidly as Charlie would have. "You were with Amita then," he thought, out loud.

Charlie's head lolled sideways and hit the passenger window with a thunk. "Only in retrospect," he answered, confusing Don.

"What the hell does that mean?"

Charlie lifted his head and turned back toward his brother. "When you look back now, I was dating her. But it's all been so…so…hit and miss, with us. For the first several months after she turned down the Harvard position, I never knew if we were dating, or still flirting, or outright committed – neither one of us wanted to make the call one way or the other. We went out the night before I left for Sacramento, and we had some stupid fight that lasted forever and made absolutely no sense. I was so confused, and so ready to get out of town for a few days…"

Don calculated again. "So you were pissed off and slept with somebody else to get back at her."

A look passed over Charlie's face that Don had never seen there before, and he only recognized it from his hours in the box with suspects. It was cold fury, and it made Don's heart skip a beat. Before he knew what was happening, Charlie was fumbling with the door handle. He was halfway onto the sidewalk before Don managed to grab onto his jacket. "Stop, Charlie! Wait," he begged. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

Charlie pulled, trying to get away. "Let. Go. Of. Me." He said it slowly, deliberately, and in a voice that made Don's blood run cold.

Still, he held on tighter. He even added his other hand. "No. Get back in the car. I'm sorry."

Charlie's shoulders slumped and he quit pulling. He hung his head a little, but still sat halfway out of the vehicle. Don had to strain to hear him. "I didn't plan it," he said. "I wasn't trying to find a way to get back at Amita."

His voice broke, and Don let go of his jacket with one hand and started rubbing circles on his back. "I believe you. I shouldn't have said that." He let go with his other hand, taking a risk. "Please get back in the car."

Charlie inhaled deeply, then moved back on the seat and closed the door. Don sat in grateful silence, dropping his hands to his lap. Charlie leaned against the headrest and closed his eyes. "A group of us went out for dinner," he said. "Advising teachers, judges. It was the second night, and the contest was over, so we could socialize without it compromising the competition. She was funny, and smart, and attractive…there was something so _relaxing_ about her. Anyway. Anyway, it turned out we were staying in the same hotel, and we walked back together. It was late, and I was tired, and when we got to her room I just automatically kissed her good-night. It wasn't something I thought about doing…"

"Nor something you regretted, apparently," noted Don, and quickly reached out in case Charlie decided to bolt again. "Dammit," he muttered. "Sorry. Shouldn't have said that, either."

To his relief, Charlie didn't move. "Well," he finally said, a little dreamily. "I guess even you can do the math on this one."

Don smiled tightly. Charlie sat up straighter in the passenger seat and glanced at him. "I told Amita right away. I didn't even go home, first. When I got back into L.A., I drove straight to her apartment. I knew it wasn't fair to keep it from her."

Don considered. "You kept going out, though…"

Charlie turned his head toward the passenger window and filled in the blanks. "Eventually. We took a break for a week while she…digested the news. In the end, she forgave me and we both made a serious commitment to each other. That's when we truly became a couple."

Don tilted his head and arched an eyebrow. " 'Truly became a couple'?"

Charlie looked back at him with disgust. "You are so…This is so NOT what I need right now," he spat, angrily. "That's when we began to become truly intimate on an emotional level. Since then," – he glanced at his watch – "we have successfully completed sexual relations seven times. I think she would have given me a quickie in the office this morning – she seemed pretty hot and bothered – but telling her I was getting married tomorrow kind-of cooled her off."

Don felt himself blushing and hung his own head. "I can't seem to say much right, today," he mumbled. He peeked at Charlie, who still looked perturbed. "Um…have you told Dad?"

Charlie fumbled for the door handle again. "Looking forward to it," he answered sarcastically. "I have a class. Can you stand up for me at 10 tomorrow or not? County courthouse."

"S-Sure," Don stuttered, "but wait, I want to know…"

In the end, it didn't much matter what he wanted to know. He was talking to the air, and Charlie was striding down the sidewalk to his own car.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: Characters from the wildly popular CBS drama "numb3rs" are respectfully, and without personal profit, borrowed. **

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How Did This Happen? Chapter 4

Charlie looked at the tuna casserole all over the kitchen floor. It was ugly, but it was better than looking at his father. _Probably could have timed that better,_ he thought, randomly counting noodles.

The crashing of the dish to the floor, and the sound of breaking glass, was the last thing heard in the kitchen. Charlie wasn't sure how long it had been, but his father had found the time to pick his way carefully over to the table and sit down. Charlie swallowed and decided it had been long enough. He started to push back his chair. "I'll get that," he croaked, barely recognizing his own voice. He had told his sad story so many times today, he was starting to lose his voice. Or maybe it was psychological.

Alan's voice sounded odd, too, when he stopped Charlie. "You will stay there, and you will explain to me why you think this is funny."

Charlie tore his attention away from his dead dinner, and looked at his father. "Funny? Am I laughing?" Charlie seriously wanted to know. Maybe the stress was making him lose his mind.

Alan crossed his arms across his chest. "No," he answered, "but this is obviously a bad joke. Amita is a lovely, dear woman. Smart enough for you and sweet enough for your father. She does not deserve to be treated this way — even in jest." He spoke sternly.

Charlie closed his eyes and didn't answer. After another undetermined bout of silence, he heard Alan again. This time, he sounded…disappointed. The way he had sounded when Charlie finally came back in from the garage, after Mom died. "Son. You are making this up, right? You're almost 33 years old. How did this happen? How could you make this kind of completely idiotic decision?"

Charlie opened his eyes and looked at the table. He picked up his fork and watched himself scratch an equation in the air just over the surface.. "Why does any of that matter now? And how am I supposed to respond? It's not like there's a right answer, here."

Alan stood slowly and pushed his chair in as he spoke with a detached air. "So your defense," he said, "is that I am setting you up to fail. Your solution is to concentrate on that." He picked his way over the casserole again, toward the swinging door that led to the house proper. When he got there, he paused. "You are a major disappointment, kiddo." With that, he pushed through the door, and didn't even look back to see if it was a direct hit.

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At 9 o'clock, Don stood outside the kitchen door and listened.

He had tried to stay away from here tonight, but he had screwed up so badly at lunch today, he felt that he had to see Charlie, again.

As an FBI senior agent, he had been surprised at his own cowardice, when he had parked on the street and snuck across the lawn. He didn't want them to hear him in the driveway, because he was not going in there if the walls were still shaking. Charlie never knew it, but when Don was 17, the girl he had been…dating…had thought she was pregnant. She had told Don that she was, and he had gone home and told his father. It was not a scene he was likely to forget, no matter how old he got. Later, it had turned out the girl hadn't even been to a doctor, and it was a false alarm. Still. The strain in his relationship with his father that little episode had caused, was one reason he had stayed away from home for so long.

He hadn't told Charlie even today, and all afternoon he had wondered why. He finally decided that a fumbling, eager, 17-year-old making a mistake was not quite like a 32-year-old, bona-fide genius doing the same thing twenty years later. A genius with a girlfriend, yet. The two situations really had very little in common.

Other than the fact that the two mistake-makers had the same father.

He hadn't heard anything, so Don tentatively reached out and turned the doorknob. Pushing open the door just a few inches, he saw Charlie sitting alone at the table, back to the door. A few more inches, and he saw something all over the floor. "Hey!", he stage whispered, waiting for Charlie to turn his head. "Where's Dad?" He gestured to the mess on the floor. "What happened here?"

Charlie turned back around, mumbling something. Don finally entered the kitchen and took a seat at the table. "What? I didn't hear you." Charlie looked full at him, then, and Don was almost knocked backwards by the naked pain he saw in Charlie's eyes. He commiserated. "Dad mad?"

His brother shook his head. "Worse," he whispered. "He's disappointed."

Don winced. That _was_ worse. He grasped at straws. "Buddy, I'm sure he was just caught off guard. I'm sure you misunderstood his reaction..."

A quiet snort interrupted him. "Which part of 'You're a disappointment' do you think I got wrong?"

Damn. Dad had said that? Don couldn't come up with a way to make that go down easier, so he glossed over it. He moved on to other details."Look, Charlie, I wanted to apologize againÉ"

Charlie waved him off. "Not necessary, Don. You've actually shown remarkable restraint."

Don tried again. "Well...I'd like to get you and- and-" He started to panic. Hadn't Charlie told him her name? He tried to think of her as a suspect — which, face it, she was — and almost shouted when he came up with it. "Colleen!" He tried to suppress his excitement. "You and Colleen...a wedding gift. Um...are you two at least going away for the weekend?"

Charlie looked at Don briefly, blinked a few times, and slowly stood as if he had suddenly aged 40 years and developed crippling arthritis. "Gotta clean this up," he muttered. Don was stunned to see a tear roll down his brother's face and drop off his chin, and even more surprised when Charlie ignored it. He watched Charlie shuffle toward the broom closet, and one of his internal alarms went off. Now all he had to do was figure out if it was the Big Brother alarm, or the FBI alarm.

Either way, something just wasn't right.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer Continues. As Does Our Tale…**

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**How Did This Happen? Chapter 5**

Don knew he wouldn't be able to concentrate on the job. He would be a liability to the other agents, if they were called out. Besides, it was Friday, and if anybody deserved a three-day weekend, it was him – so he took the entire day.

He couldn't wrap his head around why Charlie was doing this in such a rush. True, he didn't have any classes on Fridays this semester, and finals were coming up in three weeks. This could very well be the only free time he saw coming for a while – and he did say in the kitchen last night that he and Colleen had planned things 10 days before. She had arranged for a substitute for her own classes at the high school in San Diego, and everything.

Still. Sure, the next three or four weeks would be busy. So it only made more sense to wait for summer break. For both of them – was Colleen returning to live in San Diego for the rest of the school year? Didn't that kind-of defeat the purpose?

And why did Charlie wait until the day before to tell everybody? Was he hoping it really wouldn't happen? He was being entirely too close-mouthed about this whole thing.

Don's head spun itself into a serious headache, and even though he should have had plenty of time, with the morning off, he ended up rushing into Judge Smith's chambers with only three minutes to spare.

Don had run through the county courthouse. He screeched to a halt just inside the door and stood panting. A man he didn't know – most certainly the Judge – and one of the most breathtaking women he had ever seen stared at him. Beside them, Charlie's face flooded with relief. "I thought you weren't coming," he admitted.

Don tried to give him a smile and stepped a little further inside, closing the door behind him. "I wouldn't be anywhere else, Buddy. I told you I'd be here – time kind-of got away from me, but I'm not exactly late yet, am I?"

Don was checking the clock on the desk and almost missed what Charlie said next. "Dad wouldn't come."

Don whipped his head back to Charlie, opening his mouth and gaping like a fish. "You're kidding." It was all he could come up with. He honestly didn't believe Charlie was telling him the truth.

His brother squared his shoulders and a curtain of stoicism masked his face. He looked at the woman beside him. "Colleen, this is my brother, Don. Don, I'd like you to meet Colleen."

Don was still waiting for Charlie to smile, and half-expected his father to pop up from behind the desk and shout, "Surprise!" He forced himself to focus on the woman who smiled tentatively at him. He stepped forward toward the hand she offered. As he got closer, he saw that her eyes, framed in a heart-shaped face, were the color of…the color of…a deep, still, mountain lake. Blue and bottomless, like that National Park in Oregon they had visited when he was around 12…Crater Lake. There was something mesmerizing about them.

She had short, dark hair that fell in soft waves around her face. She was almost exactly the same height as Charlie – maybe an inch shorter, but if you took into account his halo of hair and her lack of heels, they were probably pretty much the same. Surprising himself, Don stepped past her hand and gently kissed her cheek. He pulled back, a little embarrassed. "You'll be my sister-in-law in 10 minutes," he explained. "A handshake seems a little wrong, somehow."

Charlie gave him a tight and grateful smile, and the sun suddenly rose on Colleen's face. She smiled, and the room was instantly brighter. "I'm so happy you could come," she said, and her voice was like melted chocolate. "I know it means a lot to Charlie. To me as well, of course," she added, and Don wished he was wearing his service weapon so he could take it out and shoot himself.

He was falling head-over-heels in love with his brother's fiancé, at their wedding.

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When it was over – eight minutes later, beating Don's prediction by two minutes – he and Charlie stood side-by-side in the corner of the Judge's chambers. Charlie was watching Colleen, who stood across the room with the Judge's female clerk, who had served as the other witness. The two women had just met, but watching them giggle together, you would assume they had been best friends for years. Charlie still marveled at that aspect of Colleen. She was so…personable, and friendly, in a fearless kind of way. He hoped that never changed.

Don was frowning slightly at his shoes, playing the eight-minute video of the wedding back in his head. His position at the Bureau required that he spend a significant amount of time in court, much of it right here in this building. Yet no matter how many times he pushed his internal "freeze-frame" on Judge Smith's face, he just could not remember seeing him before. It rankled him. Of course, there were over 300 Judges in the county, and he didn't recognize them all on sight. It was probably the inaneness of the name – 'Smith' – that made him suspicious.

Plus, it distracted him from thinking about their father. He could not believe Alan had not come to Charlie's wedding. He understood that the man adored Amita, but Charlie was _his son_. Alan had to know how much his boycott hurt Charlie, and how much his words the night before had wounded him. Don feared an irreptuable rupture to their relationship.

He felt Charlie shift beside him. "So, do you like her?" his brother suddenly asked.

Don's pulse increased. Shit. Had he been that obvious? "What do you mean?", he asked quickly, defensively, in a voice half an octave above his natural tone.

Charlie looked at him strangely. His hands were in the pockets of his Dockers. The pants were even pressed – Charlie had really dressed up for his wedding. "Well, Don, I guess I'm just thinking that it would be nice if my brother and my- my wife got along. You'll probably see a great deal of each other."

"Why?", Don asked, still in the wrong voice, still speaking in a haze of guilt.

Charlie looked a little worried, now. "You're not going to drop out of my life, are you? Because I don't know what Dad's doing, and if I lost you, too…" His own voice was rising in tone and volume.

Don hastened to reassure him, forcing himself to calm down. This was ridiculous. He'd just met the woman 10 minutes ago. She was having his brother's baby, for Pete's sake. Don had to pull it together. "No, Buddy, no. I'm sorry, of course you're right. Colleen and I will see each other a lot. And yeah, I'm cool with that."

Charlie relaxed a little. "You like her, then."

Don looked away when he answered. "Yeah Chuck. I like her."


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer Continues. As Does Our Tale…**

**LANGUAGE WARNING**

**A/N: Ahhhh (sits back in chair). I twist you, I turn you, I whump you all. (an evil grin shows off surprisingly long incisors...)**

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**How Did This Happen? Chapter 6**

It was a beautiful ocean-front room in a romantic inn, in sunny Santa Barbara, and Don had insisted on giving them two nights there as a wedding present. Who knew what strings he had pulled to do it.

Charlie sat alone on the room's balcony, in one of the deck chairs. He was listening to the roar of the ocean, and trying to determine the exact moment his life had become so royally fucked up.

The sliding glass door behind him opened, and Colleen stepped outside. She stood behind him for a moment. "You've been out here since we arrived, and you've hardly said a word since we left Los Angeles." Charlie maintained his silence. She sighed and moved to the other chair, pulling it close to his before she sat down. "Charlie. This is all going to work out. It's going to be fine."

He turned his attention from the ocean and looked at her. "Fine? This is…insanity personified. I never should have agreed to this. I broke Amita's heart, and my father's…"

She spoke soothingly. "She'll forgive you again. It's too late to pull out now, we've spent too long setting this up, you know that. It will all be over soon – a couple of months, tops. Director Tompkins will use that time to rush your girlfriend's clearance, and when it's finished, you can tell her everything." She glanced at the ocean. "Most things. Enough things."

Charlie sat straighter in the chair, and spoke bitterly. "She will _never_ forgive me for lying to her for all this time, for putting her through this. She _shouldn't_ forgive me for that! And what about my father? He'll never have clearance, I can never tell him anything! It will just get worse for him. Eventually he'll let the idea of a grandchild calm him down – just in time for your fake miscarriage, I'd imagine. He'll be heartbroken, over something that never even existed." Charlie stood and grasped the rail of the balcony. "God. I can't do that to him."

Colleen stood next to him, so she could speak quietly and still be heard over the sound of the ocean. "Charlie, the Director explained this to you. You're the only one connected to the NSA who can pull this off. I'm sorry about your father. I am. Would you rather see him dead? Because if we let Martinez slip through our fingers this time, there's a strong possibility of that happening. Intel says L.A. is his next target, and the attack will dwarf anything he's done yet. He's antsy, nervous, on the edge. We're just lucky he's insisting on finally meeting Samson and Delilah in person, and that he's never known them by anything but their code names. We have to be so genuine, we believe it ourselves, Charlie. You know that." Colleen actually felt badly for him. Charlie wasn't a field operative trained in undercover work, like she was. But she had to reign him in, and keep him on course, or he would get them both killed – and maybe thousands of others. She spoke firmly. "You have got to pull yourself out of this funk and get with the program. You know Martinez has people who will check us out and report back."

"It was a mistake not to bring Don in."

She sighed. "He'll never suspect a thing, as long as you don't give it away. Sure, he could dig around and blow it all out of the water, but he's not going to do that unless he has a reason. I saw his face, today. His priority right now is trying to be a supportive brother. From what I know about your family, it's a good guess that he'll put some effort into reconciling your father to this…development. Just keep him in family-mode for two months, Charlie. Maybe less."

Charlie wondered absently if he was concentrating on Amita and his father because it kept him from thinking about actually meeting with Martinez. Jorge Martinez was a madman, wanted by seven different countries for assorted terrorist acts. It was unbelievable that he was planning to surface, in the United States, no less, just because he suddenly wanted to chat face-to-face with two of his minions. Charlie may not have been either an NSA or FBI agent, but even he knew how volatile this situation was.

He knew for a fact that's why he'd pushed so hard to bring in Don.

He trusted Don, on a couple of different levels. Consulting with the FBI's L.A. office had allowed him to see his brother in action, to see the respect of the other agents – Don was good at his job. Charlie would like some of that around him, right now. Then, there was the trust that _really_ counted. Don was supporting him without question – and just a little sarcasm – right now. When Charlie was young, and again, now, after a few years of work – Don was his rock, his protector, his Big Brother. He was outstanding at that job, also, and Charlie really wanted a Big Brother he could trust, right about now.

He convinced himself to push for that again. "Don will figure it out when it's all over anyway. The timing of this pregnancy, your future miscarriage and our 'divorce', combined with things he picks up in the espionage rumor mill… He's got the clearance, and he's not stupid. He won't let anything slip."

Colleen sighed again and tried to be diplomatic. "It's not his slipping that concerns us, Charlie."

He bristled, looking at her. "What the hell does that mean?"

She held up a hand for a moment, then dropped it to her side. "Listen, nobody would blame you. It's only natural, and you haven't been trained to suppress all that is natural, like the rest of us. If Don knew, you'd feel…safer."

He lifted an eyebrow. "That's bad?"

She nodded, her face serious. "It can be. When someone feels safe, he's not as careful. You would unconsciously let your guard down with him, and be nervous everywhere else. People would know something was up."

Annoyance slipped into his voice. "You think Don would let that happen?"

Colleen was silent for a moment, watching him with eyes the same color as the ocean that roared a few hundred feet away. "He's your brother," she finally said, quietly. "I saw his face, today. For you, Charlie? For you, I don't think he could help himself. He would become a protective mother bear in three seconds flat."

Charlie visibly deflated. His face took on a resignation that tugged at Colleen's sense of humanity. She put her hand on his arm. "I'm sorry, Charlie, I know this is hard for you." Her voice was gentle. "We've considered all these questions before. You were there during most of the discussions. You know what we have to do."

Charlie looked back out at the ocean, then hung his head. "Yeah," he finally admitted. "Yeah, I know. I just sure as hell am not enjoying doing it."


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer Continues. As Does Our Tale…**

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**How Did This Happen? Chapter 7**

Charlie and Colleen arrived back in Pasadena early Sunday evening. They entered the house through the kitchen, finding Alan sitting at the table, finishing off his dinner. What crossed his face could hardly be identified as a smile – although there was the possibility that he was a man feeling very _unlike_ smiling, who was trying to do it anyway. Of course, there was also the possibility that he had gas.

He stood awkwardly and greeted his new daughter-in-law politely, without passion, introducing himself and failing to address the subject of not attending the wedding. He picked up his plate and headed for the sink. "I'm sorry I don't have a nice dinner ready for you. I wasn't sure when you would be back." Before he rinsed off his plate, he glanced for the first time at Charlie, and quickly away again as if he couldn't stand the sight. "There are lots of leftovers, of course, and some things in the freezer you could warm up – but that's hardly a nice dinner for- for newlyweds."

Colleen had been watching Charlie. Once, when she was a rookie, she had been on an assignment that went south, and her partner had been gut-shot. It was ugly, and scary, and she had never seen anything like it since.

Until now, looking at Charlie's face.

For the first time, she began to question the way this opportunity was being handled. What gave any of them the right to put somebody else through this? Damn Martinez. A little more time. If they had only had a little more time, they might have been able to come up with something else.

She cleared her throat and looked away from Charlie, to Alan. She turned up the wattage and dazzled him with her trademark smile. "Don't worry about us, Mr. Eppes. We ate so well in Santa Barbara, I'm not sure I could take another big meal right now!" She turned her internal meter up to "Tender". " Besides, Charlie has bragged so much about your cooking, I really want to be able to enjoy it!"

Alan looked away, obviously uncomfortable, and busied himself by rinsing his plate and putting it in the dishwasher. When he turned back around, drying his hands, he looked at the table. "I'm sure you're both…tired, but perhaps you have time to sit, for a few minutes?"

"Sure, Dad." Charlie escorted Colleen to Don's chair, and held it our for her. Then he took his own, looked up, and waited. Alan was still standing next to the sink.

His father sighed and half-turned, dropping the towel on the counter. He faced them fully again, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the counter. "I did some thinking over the weekend. Newlyweds hardly need company, especially during these first few months. In the morning, I'll move to a motel for a while, until I can get one of those condos I was looking at last year."

At first, Charlie was glad he was sitting down. Then he was standing up. "No! Dad, no! You stay here, in the house. Colleen and I will leave!" He saw Colleen move out of the corner of his eye, but would not look at her. At least she kept silent.

Alan looked at him. "I don't want the house, Charlie. If you'll remember, I sold it."

Charlie spoke rapidly. "You won't have to do anything. Upkeep, maintainence. I'll hire one of those management places, and they have gardeners who will take care of the lawns…Just for a couple of months, Dad, please. Colleen and I need…we need some time, to decide where we want to live."

Alan couldn't help himself. "What to you mean, where you want to live?"

Charlie scrambled, trying to think on his feet. Damn. He hated this Secret Agent stuff. "Well….you know….here, or buy another house, or rent for a while, or- or- maybe even relocate. Colleen has taken a leave of absence for the rest of the school year, but she didn't sign off her contract. We might go to San Diego. I could… I could teach at UC-San Diego, and, and the baby would have more relatives in the immediate area…" He took a breath, and finished lamely. "I'm just saying there is a lot to consider."

Alan studied his son silently. No kidding, a lot to consider. First, Charlie does something that goes so against the character Alan thought he knew, by getting the woman pregnant in the first place. Cheating on Amita like that – it still made his blood boil. Then he continues on that track, marrying the stranger in some kind of land speed record. _Now_, he wants to slow things down, and think. Without knowing it, Alan shook his head. _Now_, Charlie was even threatening to take away his grandchild. True, this was not the grandchild he had expected or particularly wanted, at first, but this was still his first grandchild. And Charlie was thinking about taking her to San Diego? "I don't understand you at all, anymore," he said tiredly.

Charlie didn't come any closer, but he tried again to make his point. He still wouldn't look at Colleen, because frankly, he didn't care what she thought. If he was in danger, his father was in danger. He didn't know why that hadn't occurred to him before. He would be damned if he let Alan wander off to live alone. A plan began to formulate at the back of his mind. "Just take your time shopping around for condos, Dad, give me a couple of months."

He suddenly headed for the door, reaching in the pocket of his jeans to make sure that his keys were there. Colleen sputtered after him. "Hey! Where are you going?"

He yelled back over his shoulder. "Got an idea."

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Considering all that Charlie had put him through in the last few days, Don didn't know why he was surprised to look out the peephole on his apartment door and see his brother in the hall.

He pulled the door open. "Let me guess. You're wondering if I know a good divorce lawyer."

Charlie scowled and pushed past him into the apartment. "Not funny, Don."

Don shut the door and turned, regarding the stranger in his hallway who used to be his brother. "Come in," he said, drily.

Charlie just stood there, and Don sighed. "You want a beer, or something?" Charlie shook his head. "Where's your…where's Colleen?"

"My house."

"Gonna have to start thinking of it as 'our house', Buddy."

Charlie suddenly leaned against the wall as if his knees would no longer support him, and Don took pity on him. Don _always_ took pity on him, eventually. "Come and sit at the bar, or we can go into the living room?"

Charlie made is as far as the bar. He propped his elbows on it and lowered his head to his hands while Don took the stool next to him. "I'm tired," Charlie shared.

Don snickered a little. "Well. It _was_ a honeymoon, Charlie…"

Charlie raised his head, but didn't look at him, or even bother to respond to Don's latest dig. Instead, he stared at the refrigerator. "Listen, I've got this idea. The thing is, Colleen and I need some time in a neutral place, while we decide where we're going to live. Here, San Diego, my place, a new place, an apartment… Just a couple of months. We need a couple of months."

Don wished he had gotten himself a beer, just so he'd have something to do with his hands. When Charlie mentioned the possibility of San Diego, it wasn't even his brother, or his to-be niece, or nephew, he had thought of missing first. It was Colleen. Dammit. "Yeah, I guess I can see that," he finally said, lamely.

Charlie rushed on. "I don't want Dad to have to leave the house, or to have to live there alone. I was wondering if you and I could trade spaces?"

Now Don was glad he didn't have a beer. He probably would have repeated the turkey incident. He looked at Charlie incredulously. "What?"

Charlie finally looked at him, face full of fear. "You could stay with Dad, just for a couple of months. Colleen and I would stay here. We'd pay you. Sub-let, whatever. Please, Donnie. I can't worry about Dad, right now, too…" Charlie closed his eyes and silently cursed himself. Not only did it sound like he was going to burst into tears at any second, he was giving too much away.

Don shifted next to him. Charlie cautiously opened his eyes again. He saw the worry – and something else – in Don's eyes, and turned back to staring at the refrigerator. "Sorry," he whispered. "Must be hormones, or something."

A soft laugh escaped Don. "You're not the one who's pregnant, Chuck." They sat in silence for a moment. Finally, Don spoke again. "I already have some clothes at your place. I could pack some more, I guess. This is temporary, right?"

Charlie turned to him with such hope and relief shining in his eyes that it took Don slightly aback. "Yes. Two months, tops. Don, I would so appreciate this…"

"I might have to drop by from time-to-time, to get things I need…"

Charlie was nodding his head. "Of course. Anytime. Me too, maybe."

Don thought. He reddened slightly and squirmed uncomfortably. "Um…one other thing."

Charlie waited, then encouraged him. "What?"

"Could you guys use the guest room? For one thing, no-one has since I spent all that time and money finally fixing it up. But mostly, I don't want my little brother having sex in my bed." _Especially with Colleen_, he added, silently.

_Not a problem,_ Charlie returned silently. Aloud, he said only, "Don't be disgusting. We'll stay in the other room."

Don considered further. "Don't do it on the couch, either," he added.

"Fine," Charlie bit off.

Don had one last request. "Or the breakfast bar. Don't do it here."

Charlie pushed his stool back quickly, and took his arms off the bar. "What exactly are you saying?"

Don grinned at him. "You know, maybe we should talk about the bathtub…"


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer Continues. As Does Our Tale…**

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**How Did This Happen? Chapter 8**

Alan had threatened to move out anyway, and grumbled about not needing a babysitter.

Charlie knew he was not in a position to talk him into anything right now, but he tried anyway. "It's not that I think you do, Dad. I only asked Don to stay here so Colleen and I could have his apartment. It seemed like the easiest solution." Charlie was tired, and kind-of subliminally terrified all the time, and he stopped playing fair. "Besides, I thought Donnie was always welcome in this house."

Don had hastily packed a few bags, grabbed some dress shirts and followed Charlie back to the house. Sitting now at the kitchen table with everyone else, he shot Charlie a look. It wasn't like him to so obviously use coercion. Of course, what _was_ like him, these days?

Alan grunted. "Of course your brother is always welcome here. That's not what I meant."

Colleen had maintained an impassive, stony silence throughout the discussion. The looks she was giving Charlie, though, made Don pretty sure he didn't have to worry about his breakfast bar anytime soon.

Charlie stood. "The rest of Colleen's things are sitting up in my room. I need to throw a few more things together, too." He looked at his wife. "You want to help?"

"Charlie," Alan interrupted, sounding increasingly disgusted, "she's pregnant."

Colleen stood. On-the-job or not, she was tired of being discussed as if she wasn't even there. "Don't worry, Mr. Eppes, I won't carry anything. I'll just help Charlie pack." Without further words, the two left the kitchen. Don and Alan sat and listened silently to the footsteps on the stairs.

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Upstairs, Colleen quietly clicked shut the door of Charlie's room and hissed at him. "What the hell do you think you are doing?"

He crossed to his closet and opened the door. He kept his own voice quiet. "This is non-negotiable. You can keep me from telling them everything, but you cannot keep me from trying to ensure their safety." He pulled a battered duffle bag out of the corner and threw it on the bed. He walked to the dresser and opened a drawer. He started throwing underwear and t-shirts in the general direction of the duffle bag. "Besides, this makes sense. Anyone checking up on us will know my father is unhappy, and this is a natural temporary solution. Brothers exchanging living spaces for a few weeks."

Colleen crossed to the bed, picking up t-shirts and underwear on the way. She perched on the edge and began to haphazardly cram things into the duffle bag. "The only reason I am going along with this is because it does make sense. It removes a civilian from potential harm. If you had cleared this with me first, I probably would have agreed." She viciously stowed some socks in the corner of the bag. "But you need to understand something, Charlie. _I_ am in charge, here. You are not to go around making arbitrary decisions like this."

Charlie picked up a pair of jeans off the floor and walked toward the bed. He watched her shove things in the duffle bag. Suddenly, the stress of the last week threatened to crack him, and he started giggling. Colleen looked up sharply. "What?"

He threw the jeans at her. "Where did you learn to pack? You're on the road all the time, you should be better at it that that."

She frowned and caught the jeans. "At least I'm not the one pulling dirty clothes off the floor. Remember, Professor, I am not really your wife. Don't think I'll be doing your laundry once we get to Don's."

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Downstairs, Don told himself he was a Senior Agent with the Federal Bureau of Investigation, and he could take on a nearly 70-year-old man. No matter what his face looked like.

"Look, maybe Charlie didn't handle that with a lot of finesse, but you've got to admit, he's been under some stress, lately."

Alan glared at the table and wouldn't look at him. "Finesse? Stress? Charlie? I'm not convinced any one of those words fits."

Frankly, Don wasn't either. But this wasn't the time for that. "Dad," he stated, happy to be safely across the table, "it really hurt him that you wouldn't come to the wedding."

This time Alan looked up. His face was still angry. "It hurts me," he said, "that Margaret and I did such a poor job instilling a sense of right and wrong into our son. We coddled his genius too much, obviously, and compromised his development in other areas."

Alan was talking about Charlie, but Don felt a personal pain. "Dad. Come on. You know that's not true. Charlie has one of the most finely developed senses of right and wrong that I've ever seen. And trust me, I've seen a lot. His heart is always in the right place."

He considered his own words and barely heard his father snort. "Perhaps. It's just some of the other parts he has trouble with."

Don ignored him and stared blankly at the window over the sink. Charlie's heart was always in the right place. He had a highly developed sense of what was right, and what was wrong. He would do whatever he had to, when the two were at war. He was a genius, and Don was fairly sure he was familiar with the concept of condoms.

His internal alarm was screaming.

He pushed back his chair from the table. "Can I use the desktop in the solarium for a while?"

Alan waved a hand. "Sure. Whatever. Guess it's your house, now."


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer Continues. As Does Our Tale…**

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**How Did This Happen? Chapter 9**

Don had a dilemma. Or two.

On Sunday night, using the computer in the solarium, he had found a website for Los Angeles County members of the bar. It included profiles on all the local judges. He wanted to scroll through them, and look for Judge Smith, but you had to be an attorney to get to that part of the website. So, he needed an attorney.

He had gone to bed racking his brain for someone he could use on a confidential, non-FBI basis, who wasn't Robin. That whole experience with Robin remained a messy little bundle of hurt feelings that he just did not want to rip into, again. By now, the bundle had probably festered and if it was ripped open, who knew what would pour out. No doubt, something smelly and hard to handle.

Not only was he not ready to try to handle it, that also put him in the position of not really being able to trust her discretion on this. So, he needed another attorney.

He fell asleep thinking about it, and his other dilemma slammed him in the face as soon as he got to the office on Monday morning. The team had caught seven new cases in the three days he had been gone. Colby and David had been out half the night on one. They had gone from "boredom" to "overdrive" overnight, which was how it always happened. Don found he didn't really have time to deal with his personal suspicions for a while.

As if was, it was Wednesday before he even got around to sharing the news. The team was in a conference room, eating takeout Chinese for dinner and going over a case. Colby leaned back in his chair and belched.

He reddened. "S'cuse me. Don, I think we may need Charlie on this. When are finals, again?"

Don sighed and leaned back in his own chair. "Um…soon. Couple of weeks. There's probably some things you should all know."

Megan and David both stopped eating and looked at him. He found he couldn't meet anyone's eyes, and picked up a file folder. He opened it and pretended to read the information inside. No-one mentioned that it was upside-down, although they all noticed.

"Charlie…sort-of…well…he got married, last Friday. He's married."

Three sets of stunned eyes looked at each other. Then Megan looked back at Don and spoke, letting the hurt show in her voice. "I'm surprised he and Amita didn't wait for Larry to get back. He'll be so disappointed. And I am, too. I'm just…surprised…"

Don dropped the file he wasn't reading and sighed, looking at her. "Then get ready for this. He didn't marry Amita."

There was five seconds of silence before Colby's "Holy shit" echoed around the room.

Don was not in the mood to share all the details, and he made that clear with his tone of voice. "Look, there's only one other thing you have to know, right now. I'm staying at the house with my Dad, for awhile. I always have my cell, so you can reach me the same way. Just don't drop by the apartment – Charlie and his…Charlie and C-C-Colleen are staying there."

He listened to everyone breathe for a few moments. The smell of Chinese food began to make his stomach roll, and he pushed aside the closest cartons and stood. "Going to the break room for another bottle of water," he said flatly. "Anybody want anything?" Three heads shook, although no voices made an appearance. Don paused in the doorway. He looked back. "You might not want to bring this up with my Dad," he added. "Alan's a little pissed."

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Charlie was surprised to come into his office after his 10 o'clock class and see Colleen there. He quickly closed the door. "What are you doing here?"

She leaned against his desk and smiled at him. She nearly whispered. "Supposedly we like each other enough to get married, Charlie. It's going to look a little strange if we only see each other 17 minutes a day."

He reddened. "You said to act normal. This is normal, the last few weeks before finals. I have extended office hours, and I'm writing exams…"

She held up a hand. "I know," she interrupted, lowly. "But wanting to spend time with your new wife is normal, too. If you had married – someone else – you would at least be having lunch together a few times a week. We've been married a week tomorrow, and it's time for me to meet some of your colleagues. I brought deli, so we can sit in the faculty breakroom."

Charlie tried to think. Thursday…would Amita be in the breakroom for lunch? So far, they had avoided each other entirely – which probably had half the campus talking. Damn.

He was going to have to go to lunch with his wife.

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Don had almost managed to have lunch with Charlie on Saturday. He had come by the apartment for a few things, bringing some things from the house his brother had asked for. Colleen was at the market. Charlie was grading papers, and had offered to make Don a sandwich.

He had been sitting awkwardly on the couch, surrounded by papers and his laptop. While he was in the tiny kitchen, Don called after him. "Why aren't you grading papers at the bar?"

"Afraid to use it," Charlie called back, and Don smiled. It was such a normal moment, and it reminded him how wrong every other moment was.

Before Charlie had finished with the sandwich, Don's cell rang. He took the call and stood, headed for the front door. He grabbed his bag from in front of the bar. "Sorry, Buddy. Crime scene."

Charlie stood, letting mayonnaise drip off a knife onto the kitchen floor, and his face fell. "Oh. Yeah. Well, be careful. All right?"

Don hesitated. "You okay?"

Charlie nodded, carrying the knife to the sink. "Sure."

Don promised to call him later, and was out the door. On the way to his car, he thought of an attorney he should be able to trust.


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: Characters from the wildly popular CBS drama "numb3rs" are respectfully, and without personal profit, borrowed.**

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**How Did This Happen? Chapter 10**

The news was good, and not-so-good.

It was good that a case came to conclusion mid-morning on Monday, because that was always good. As Don had mentioned more than once, "One case closed, a dozen new ones open!"

This was not-so-good because the ensuing paperwork ensured that Don did not have time to pursue his personal suspicions about Charlie. As it was, he didn't get back to Charlie's house until after 9:00 p.m.

The next day wasn't much better — or worse, depending how you looked at it. While they didn't get a dozen new cases, as always, it felt like they did. The team was running ragged. Don had time to do three things. First, he put in a request for a meeting with Director Merrick, with his personal assistant. Don was going to insist on additional Agents to handle this workload. Secondly, on the way back from Merrick's office, he stopped at personnel and got some information. Late that afternoon, he was able to call the UCLA School of Law. He had to play the FBI card, but eventually he got what he wanted.

He was just about to drag his weary body home, at almost 6:00 p.m., when he caught Megan sitting in the breakroom, looking like she had lost her best friend. He paused in the doorway. Megan might as well have lost her best friend — he was in a different atmostphere, at the moment. When the whole space shuttle thing had first happened with Larry, Don had checked on her often. As Team Leader, he liked to take care of his own. He'd let too much time go by since he'd really offered her his shoulder, he realized now. That quickly, his plans for a quiet evening with his Dad were out the window. It took a little work, but he talked Megan into going out to dinner with him.

Dinner turned into an all-out crying jag, and more than once, Don found himself wondering about women and their hormones. Neediness was completely out of Megan's character. She was acting more pregnant than Colleen.

Not that he had been thinking about Colleen.

Dammit.

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Alan put aside his book as soon as Don was through the door. "You're working too hard."

Don sighed. "Not working. Megan's missing Larry. I took her out to dinner."

Alan smiled. "That was nice, Donnie. We'll have her to the house sometime soon."

Don sank wearily onto the couch, facing his father's recliner. "She'd appreciate that."

Alan licked his lips nervously. "Do you anticipate being this late tomorrow, as well?"

Great. No-one knew what time he got home to the apartment. "I don't know, Dad," he said, a little petulantly. "You know anything can happen at any time."

Alan fingered the corners of the book's pages. "I know, I know. I'm not keeping tabs on you. It's just that…I invited your brother and his…wife for dinner, tomorrow. I'm hoping you can be here."

Don looked at his father. Maybe he was getting used to the idea, a little. At least he was making an effort, now. Don intended to encourage that. Also, he wouldn't mind having dinner with Colleen — even if Charlie was there, too. He smiled. "Oh. That's good, Dad. Sure, I want to be there. I'll make a real effort."

Alan shrugged. "Art pointed out rather strongly that they've been married 10 days now, and I haven't had them over." He stood and yawned. "So, dinner's at 7. Call me at 5 and let me know if you're not on schedule so far. I'll postpone things if you can't make it — it should be a family dinner."

Don frowned.He almost chastised Alan, but decided that the man was probably pushing himself as it was. He would just make a Herculean effort to be here. "Sure," he finally answered.

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The effort was beyond Herculean. It was gargantuan.

David was out sick, Megan was still depressed, and Colby informed him he had put in for, and been granted, vacation time for the next week. At 4:00, Don was offered his meeting with Merrick, and 90 minutes later the only agreement they had reached was that they needed another meeting.

Just after 6:00, he pulled his SUV into the driveway of Charlie's house. He barely had time to shower and change before they arrived. Don was sittng on the couch, halfway through his first beer, when his Dad answered the front door.

Charlie was ringing the doorbell of his own house, and coming in the front door. Don needed something stronger than beer.

"Hello, son. C-Colleen. Happy you could make it. Dinner is ready. Come straight to the dining room."

Don almost spit out a mouthful of beer. Shit. Did Dad have them on a timer, or something? He stood and smiled at Charlie and Colleen as they trailed in after Alan. "Dad, maybe we could visit and relax a little, first?"

Alan stared at him. "It's Prime Rib, Donnie. I don't want it to get overdone."

Don gave up and followed the parade to the dining room. At least Alan had made Charlie's favorite. Alan told them all to sit, but Don followed him into the kitchen to help bring out the food. His pleasure about the Prime Rib was soon tempered. He saw two things that Charlie hated, and one to which he was actually allergic. "Dad," he reprimanded softly. "Shellfish?"

Alan didn't answer and pushed through the swinging door. Behind him, carrying two side dishes, Don watched him place the lobster salad on the table. "I'm sorry, Charlie," he said, sounding anything but sorry. "I forgot about your allergy. Guess you'll just have to take larger portions of everything else!"

On cue, Don placed a green bean casserole and a bowl of dark red, sliced beets on the table between Charlie and Colleen. He held Charlie's eyes and saw the exact moment he swallowed his anger.

"Right, Dad," he ground out, still looking at Don. "That's fine."

When they were all seated, Don found himself in yet another awkward position. He felt more than a little sorry for Charlie, and he was disappointed in Alan. Charlie even had to get up and go after his own wine glass -- Alan had "accidentally missed" it, while he was setting the table. Yet Don was finding Colleen delightful. Simply staring at her was delightful, but she turned out to be funny, and smart, too. It both touched and repelled Don when he saw her place a proprietory hand on Charlie's arm, when he got back with his wine glass. Charlie sighed and filled the glass to the rim, then gulped wine as if it was water. Don stared at him in amazement.

Since carving the roast, Alan had been suspiciously quiet. Don thought again about exchanging his beer for something stronger when he heard him finally speak. "So, Colleen," he started. "How many degrees do you have? Charlie, you may know, has three doctorates. His last girlfriend has two, so far. She was offered a position at Harvard."

Charlie lifted his eyes in horror. "Dad!"

Colleen smiled brightly over Alan's "What?", as friendly as ever.

"I stopped with one Master's, Mr. Eppes. I'm very proud of Charlie's accomplishments."

Don noticed that his father did not invite her to call him "Alan". Instead, after a swallow of water, he continued the minefield conversation. "Well, you probably went to a good, East Coast school."

Bless her heart, she kept smiling — although Charlie was turning a shade of purple not usually found in nature. "That would have been nice!", she laughed. "But it was just a state school, I'm afraid. University of Nevada, Las Vegas."

Alan nodded. "You're such a pretty woman," he continued. "Studying in Las Vegas, I'm surprised you weren't offered a position as a showgirl."

Don was the one who protested this time, and Charlie threw down his fork and stood up. "You invited us here tonight, Dad," he seethed. "What the hell are you trying to do?"

Alan stood as well. "I'm just learning about my daughter-in-law, Charlie!" He was nearly shouting. Is it my fault I have to do that _now_, after you're already married?"

Don stood and held up his hands. He used his best Team Leader voice. "Hey, hey, stop it! Both of you! Dad, I'm surprised at you. This isn't the kind of gentlemen you raised us to be, and I've never seen you act this way!"

Alan looked at him for a long moment. Finally, he looked back at Charlie. "I apologize," he said, stiffly. "Please sit down and finish your meal." He half-bowed toward Colleen. "I aplogize. I didn't mean to be rude."

The three sat, warily, and watched each other. The only sound for almost five minutes was Don asking Charlie for the salt, and occasional chewing.

Alan suddenly started up, again. "Colleen, you look older than Charlie. When did you graduate from college?"

Don spilled his water and Charlie stood up again. He yanked on Colleen's arm. "We're leaving," he commanded, and Colleen scrambled to stand up and follow him. Don had jumped up to keep the water from dripping into his lap, and he found himself looking into her eyes.

He also found that she was looking back.

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Don stood at the window and watched his brother;s car back out of the driveway. He turned to his father, who was still sitting at the dining room table. "I cannot believe your behavior. I don't understand why Charlie did what he did any nore than you do, Dad. I only understand two things, right now — he is still my brother. And he is still your son."

Alan sat silent, and Don made a noise of disgust before he walked out of the house himself.


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: Characters from the wildly popular CBS drama "numb3rs" are respectfully, and without personal profit, borrowed. **

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How Did This Happen? Chapter 11

Rick Wagner could hardly believe it when Special Agent Don Eppes called him. He was surprised Agent Eppes remembered him – he had only worked a civilian internship in forensics two summers ago. He had worked the night shift, and he and Agent Eppes sometimes chatted while they stood around the lab and waited for some test. He had always liked the guy well enough, but he was pretty stunned that the Agent not only remembered him, but recalled that he should have finished law school a few months ago.

Now he sat at the tiny desk in his tinier office – a former closet -- and navigated the Internet while Don stood over him, watching. It made him a little nervous, and not for the first time, he wished this office was big enough for a guest chair. "I could take my laptop down to a conference room," he offered. "That's what I usually do when I meet with a client."

Don shifted, watching the screen. "Nah, this is good. Pretty small office, though."

Rick was embarrassed. "Well, I just passed the bar. I'm lucky Wentworth, Trammel and Howe recruited me in law school."

Don secured him as an ongoing asset. "I'm sure luck had nothing to do with it," he said, generously. "I remember you as a pretty smart, hard-working guy."

Rick smiled sheepishly at his computer. "Here. It's coming up, now. What's the name of the Judge you want?"

Don leaned over so he could see the screen better, planting one hand on the desk. "Smith. Don't know his first name. But I've been in his office. I'll recognize his picture."

Rick scrolled down to the S's. "There are a few 'Smiths' in here," he noted apologetically.

"Just scroll through them. I'll stop you when I see him."

Rick did as he was told, stopping when he got to 'Taylor'. He looked over at Don. "You didn't see him?"

Don straightened and frowned. "No. Why wouldn't he be on this site?"

Rick shrugged. "It's updated fairly regularly, but I suppose he could have just been appointed. Plus, Judges provide their own biographical information for this website – it's possible he refused to participate. Although I've never heard of it happening."

"And you don't know him? Judge Smith?"

Rich shrugged again. "I've only been practicing a few months. I've gone to court less than a dozen times, and always as second chair. I'm sorry."

Don tried to smile. "No, don't apologize. I appreciate this."

Rick smiled back. "Listen, Agent Eppes, I'm going to the law library later, and then I'll be filing some papers in the courthouse. You want me to swing by his office and see what I can find out?"

"That would be great, Rick. Just…introduce yourself as a new associate at Wentworth, make a little small talk with him. Nothing specific, okay?"

Rick nodded excitedly. "Sure, Agent! Sure! I can do that!"

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Charlie was nervous.

He was sure he had seen someone watching the apartment this morning, when he had come down the stairs to head for campus. He had called Colleen from the car and she had kept him on the line while she walked to the living room window. "Yep," she finally said. "I've got him. Definitely watching this apartment."

Charlie had urged her to do something. Lock the doors. Call the police.

Colleen had laughed. "Charlie. I am the police. This is what we expected, remember? Martinez has received the planted leak that you and I are Samson and Delilah, and he's got men checking up on us."

"Shut up!", Charlie suddenly shouted. "What if the phones are tapped?"

Her voice took on a stern edge. "Damn it Charlie, have you left your cell where anyone could access it? We told you, the cell never leaves your person. Both of our cells were cleared before we started this whole thing. There's no way somebody got to mine."

A horn honked behind him. He was sitting at a green light. He stomped on the gas. "No. I never even put it in my backpack, anymore. I sleep with it under my pillow."

Her voice relaxed. "We're okay, then. Just do what you normally do. I'll bring lunch to campus again today. We'll sit on the lawn outside the math building and give them a show."

"The apartment could be bugged," he worried.

She laughed again. "Calm down, Charlie. I'm NSA. I know what I'm doing. I sweep the place every morning after you leave. Haven't found anything yet."

He saw a flashing light in the rear view mirror and heard the short burst of a siren. Belatedly, he realized he hadn't bothered to stop at Carmel Street, the four-way 'stop' intersection. "Damn," he moaned into the phone. "Can the NSA fix tickets?"

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Don was standing in the interrogation video room, watching Colby and David play 'good Agent/bad Agent'. Colby was stretching his acting skills, going for 'good Agent' today. Good for him. Don and Megan were enjoying the show immensely – although David was starting to concern him, a little. He was much better at 'bad Agent' than Don had ever given him credit for.

He stepped into the hallway when his cell vibrated. He ripped it from the waist of his jeans and flipped it open, not recognizing the number. "Eppes."

"Agent Eppes, this is Rick. Rick Wagner?"

Don tensed, senses on high alert. "Yeah, yeah, of course. What do you need, Rick?"

The kid sounded embarrassed. "I'm sorry. Did you say Judge Smith's office was in the southeast corner of the third floor?"

"Yes. 322. Why?"

Rick stammered a little. "W-Well, I'm here now. Th-This was Judge Reynolds' office. He died suddenly of a stroke last month, and it's been empty ever since. It'll be empty until another Judge is appointed, probably a couple of months, total. His clerk works for Judge Rice, now, on the second floor."

Don wandered down the hall, thinking. "I see. Rick, can you do me another favor while you're there?"

"Sure, Agent."

"Don. Call me Don. Can you pull me a copy of a marriage license? My fax number is on that business card I gave you."

"No problem, Don. Who do you want?"

"My brother. Dr. Charles Eppes. He was married 10 days ago."

"In this county?", asked Rick.

"In that empty office where you're standing," affirmed Don. "By our missing Judge Smith."

There was silence, and then Rick cleared his throat. "You know something, Don? If this is good, I might even get a real office."

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About the time Don was taking Rick Wagner's call, Charlie looked up from his desk to see Dr. Mildred Finch, Division Chair, standing in his doorway. Her face looked as sour as his stomach. "Millie," he greeted, without much enthusiasm. "What can I do for you this afternoon?"

She stepped inside the door. "I wanted to remind you about tomorrow evening's Scholarship Commitee meeting. We'll be making final decisions about next school year, and it's important that you attend."

Charlie ran a hand through his hair. "I've told you a number of times that I don't have time for this," he said.

She raised her eyebrows. "Yet you have time to get married, less than a month before final exams. You have time to complicate CalSci's faculty."

"What are you talking about?"

She rolled her eyes. "I would have to be deaf not to hear the rumors around campus, Charlie. Plus, your father told me. He's very upset, you know. But that's personal business. Division faculty is MY business. This is exactly why I was against your relationship with Dr. Rajmujan in the first place."

Charlie had a hard time choosing between confusion and anger. He finally settled on frustration, a satisfying mix of the other two. "I still don't know what you're talking about," he repeated heatedly.

"Amita has asked to be released from her three-year associate professor contract. She is actively seeking employment elsewhere. This can't come as a surprise to you, Dr. Eppes."

Charlie's face fell, reflecting his heart, which had just landed in his shoes. "It…does," he stammered. "I - I didn't know that." Oh, God. He didn't expect Amita to forgive him, but he had thought he would at least get a chance to explain, when it was all over.

"She's embarassed," Dr. Finch pointed out. "Even I have seen you and your…bride, during your lunch dates. And even I can understand that Amita must find that humiliating, and painful."

Charlie sat silently. Let her browbeat him. He deserved it.

"Perhaps if Dr. Fleinhardt was still living in the steam tunnels, I could at least count on him to be here next fall. I'm really not in the mood to hear what you do not have time for, Dr. Eppes. You will be at the meeting."

Charlie watched her turn and leave his office. He sighed, and picked up the phone. He should probably call his wife, and tell her that Millie had enjoyed the show.

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Had David not been such a successful "bad Agent", securing the location of a human "chop shop" in the business of black market organ harvesting and sales, Don would have received the fax from Rick. As it was, by the time the sheet of paper with a scribbled, "No license issued under that name" arrived for the attention of Agent Eppes, Don and his team were on the way to the chop shop.

They had been after these assholes for weeks. Every time they got a lead, the chop shop was moved before they got there. Today, however, three men were still in the process of loading the trucks, when the unit arrived. It was unfortunate that they were heavily armed men. It was further bad luck that Don caught a high-powered round in the vest, bruising three ribs and cracking one. Things went completely south when the impact sent him slamming backwards into the concrete wall of the warehouse. He slid to the ground, unconscious, and didn't even hear the firefight around him.

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Colleen heard the ringtone from her second secure cell phone, and she was all business. This was it. This was the call from Martinez.

"Yes?"

"Congratulations, my dear. My people tell me you and Samson were married, and are expecting a child."

"Jorge! I wasn't expecting your call. Did you arrange a job with Samson?"

"You have comprimised your work, you know. The two of you were a very successful team, before you mixed pleasure with business."

"Samson will still be available. As my pregnancy advances, he may have to work alone, for awhile. But he has always been the brains behind the operation. You know that."

"Yes. My next project is very important, Delilah. So important that I must see you both in person."

She let a few seconds of silence tick off. "Jorge? We have worked on your projects for years. Information is always sent through other parties. This is how we have all always wanted to conduct our business."

"Your covers are excellent, my dear. Such a respected mathematician. I especially like the consulting touch. Did you know he has actually worked for the NSA, in the past?"

Colleen began to grow uneasy, but continued to bluff. "Not excellent enough, it seems. You located us."

He laughed. "I have my sources. Still, it was more difficult than I expected."

_And one of your sources is an NSA agent,_ she thought with satisfaction.

Martinez spoke again. "It is necessary for us to finally meet, Delilah. You will understand when I explain the new project. Samson's skills at cyrptograpny and decoding are essential to my mission's success."

"I understand."

"I will call again soon, Delilah. Be ready."


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer Continues. As Does Our Tale…**

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**How Did This Happen? Chapter 12**

At the knock on the apartment door, Colleen automatically felt for the small handgun in her ankle holster. She didn't really expect Martinez to show up on her doorstep, but the cold steel made her feel better anyway.

She looked through the peephole and drew back, surprised. Slowly, she opened the door and peered at Alan. "Mr. Eppes. Charlie's not home from CalSci yet, but he should be, soon. Please, come in and wait." She stepped back and allowed him to enter.

He stopped just inside the door, barely giving her enough clearance to shut it. "I'm not just here for Charlie. I owe you an apology. My behavior for the last two weeks has been reprehensible, and was particularly abominable at dinner last night. There is absolutely no excuse for such behavior, and I offer none."

She smiled at him disarmingly. "I understand that this has been difficult, Mr. Eppes." She stepped toward the kitchen. "Would you like some coffee? I was just about to make some. Charlie will be up late tonight fine-tuning his finals, and he'll need the caffeine."

Alan followed at a distance. "That sounds lovely. And please, Colleen, call me Alan." He watched her cross to the coffee maker and chuckled. "You don't know my son very well, if you think he needs caffeine to stay awake half the night." Immediately he reddened. "I'm sorry. That was insensitive."

She poured a carafe of water into the machine and turned. She leaned against the counter, still smiling slightly. "Not at all. You're right. I don't know Charlie all that well, considering."

As if on cue, the apartment door opened and Charlie entered, barely balancing an overloaded backpack, his laptop and an armful of papers. Colleen hurried to help him, and he stared at Alan. He was less than friendly. "I thought I saw your car out there."

Alan stood nervously at the bar. "Charlie. I came by to apologize to you both. I was telling your wife, I'm ashamed of my behavior at dinner last night. I'm not proud of the last two weeks. Your brother was right, I would never accept that from either of you. There is no excuse for the way I have acted."

Colleen came toward the bar and dumped Charlie's papers on the corner. She passed beyond, into the kitchen, and quietly started taking mugs out of the cupboard. Charlie continued to look at Alan coldly. "I hope you're not waiting for me to say it's all right."

Alan dropped his eyes and stared at Charlie's shoes. One was untied. He was lucky he hadn't killed himself on the stairs. "No. It's not all right. I just wanted to say that I'm sorry. I know I don't deserve one, but I'd appreciate it if you could give me another chance. Dinner sometime next week?" He raised his eyes again, and attempted a grin. "I promise that this time, I'll make things you actually enjoy." He half-turned toward Colleen. "If you tell me your favorite food, I'll make sure it's part of the menu."

Charlie looked away, and Alan thought he might be about to kick him out. In truth, he didn't want his father to see how miserable he was. It was easier, somehow, when his Dad was not at peace with this. Since he could never tell him the truth, Charlie was now going to have to watch while Alan became attached to Colleen and the unreal baby, and then lose them both.

On top of that, Colleen had called him a few hours ago, after her conversation with Martinez, and he'd been on the verge of a panic attack ever since. Maybe he was the NSA's best hope for someone who could do the work Martinez required of 'Samson'. He was pretty sure throwing up all over the terrorist might give him away, however.

He sighed and looked back at his Dad. He caught Colleen's sympathetic look from the kitchen. He didn't want to die at odds with his father. "All-right, Dad," he said, reluctantly. "I guess you've given me a few extra chances, over the years."

Alan was relieved, but he was also concerned with the look on his son's face. He seemed beyond tired – almost hopeless.

A ringtone chimed and all three automatically went for their cell phones. Colleen was afraid that it was Martinez again, and she would have to speak to him with Alan in the room. She was relieved when it turned out to be the elder Eppes' phone.

Alan flipped his cell open. "Yes?" He listened for a moment. "Yes. Alan Eppes speaking. How can I help you?" He listened again and paled, sagging on the nearby barstool. "Oh, my God," he whispered, and suddenly Charlie's problems faded away. He saw the look on his father's face, and knew. His own legs nearly collapsed, and he waited for his father to deny the truth. Alan continued speaking into the phone, his voice a rush of words. "His brother is with me now. We'll be right there."

Alan stood, swaying a little, and locked terrified eyes with Charlie. "It's Donnie," he whispered. "He's been hurt."

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All the way to the hospital, Colleen tried to figure out what was wrong with her.

She was a seasoned, tough, undercover NSA federal agent. She had been hurt in the line of duty herself — even shot, once. She knew that it happened, and she felt something familiar. She felt the rage that always came when a fellow officer went down.

The other things she was feeling, though…they made no sense. She felt as if she was experiencing for the first time what it was like to love someone who put themselves in this kind of danger every day. That was ridiculous. She had only known Charlie a few months, and always in the context of her current assignment. She had just met Alan and Don two weeks ago. Yet, not only did she identify with the expressions on the faces of the two men — a mixture of abject horror, wordless fear and "I-knew-this-would-happen-someday" resignation — there was something crawling inside her own chest, as well.

Her mind was replaying every last second she had spent in Don's company — especially the look they had exchanged last night at dinner — and she was feeling disturbingly, personally, threatened.

And to think she had been worried _Charlie_ would end up getting them killed. She had been so busy fulfilling the role of Tough NSA Agent with him, she had not even noticed that she was… she was… she was turning into a damn _woman_ whenever Don was around.

This had to stop. This thing, this _thing_ that had not really even started…it had to stop.

Finally, half-running down the halls of Huntington-Memorial, toward the Trauma Center, trailing Alan and Charlie — Colleen forced herself to think. She thought of bananas, and chewing gum, and peppermint, and garlic — things she hated. Things she could control.

In the waiting area of the trauma center, a woman standing in a tight bunch with two men, called out to Alan. These were obviously other Agents who worked with Don.

That simply, the Agent in Colleen resurfaced. She grabbed Charlie's hand, a show for their benefit. Charlie was too distracted to care. In fact, he automatically squeezed, and she could feel the sweat of fear in his grip.

The other woman took a few steps to meet Alan. She reached out and laid a hand on his arm, and smiled. "Alan, it's not life-threatening. He was wearing a vest. He hit his head when he went down, but he was conscious before the EMTs got there. Doctors are assessing him for a concussion. They'll x-ray his ribs, too. Catching a round in the vest sometimes cracks a rib."

"Oh thank God," Alan breathed. Charlie remained tense and silent beside Colleen. She got the impression he wouldn't relax until he actually saw Don himself.

"The doctor knows we're waiting out here," put in one of the men — a stocky, bulky guy who looked vaguely like a linebacker. Colleen thought instantly that this was one she wanted on her side, and when the Agent grinned protectively at Charlie, she knew it. "How's it going, Whiz Kid?"

Alan stood between the group of FBI agents and his…family. He rubbed his hand over his chin briefly as he half-turned toward Colleen. "Have you met my daughter-in-law, Colleen?" He smiled at her and indicated each agent as he made introductions. "This is Don's team: Megan, David and Colby."

There was an awkward silence. David was the first to smile and extend a hand toward Colleen. "Been looking forward to meeting you," he said. "Could have been better circumstances, though."

Colby took up the line of thought as his hand followed David's. "Yeah. I was hoping for a barbecue and Alan's cooking, myself!"

There was soft chuckling as Megan silently shook Colleen's hand. She smiled, but her eyes narrowed and she regarded Colleen in a way that made her feel, suddenly, exposed. She swallowed, then offered them all a blanket greeting, looking away from Megan.

"That's an excellent idea, Colby," answered Alan. He glanced at Charlie. "Should have thought of it myself. What do you say, son? Perhaps we can make our annual 4th of July barbecue a post-wedding shower!"

Charlie stared at Alan. Last night, his father couldn't insult Colleen enough. Now, he wanted to throw them a party. They were standing around in a Trauma Center talking about a stupid party, when they should be thinking about Don. Charlie couldn't even think of an appropriate reaction, so he dropped Colleen's hand, walked over to the bank of chairs and sank into one, without even trying.

She was soon beside him. Leaning close to his ear, she whispered. "Normal, Charlie."

He jerked his head around to look at her. "This _is_, dammit!" He didn't attempt to lower his voice, and Alan and Don's team members looked at each other awkwardly, trying not to look at the newlyweds. "I _always_ act this way when my brother is almost killed, and my father turns into someone I've never met! I…_ow_!"

Colleen had not responded to him verbally. In fact, she had smiled sympathetically and taken his hand in both of hers. Then she had almost broken his finger. He tried to jerk his hand back, but she held on, and spoke sweetly. "I understand, baby. Megan said Don will be all-right. You need to calm down, now." Her voice threatened to cause an insulin reaction, but her eyes shot daggers at Charlie.

Still holding onto his hand, ready to provide further persuasion if needed, Colleen turned her head and looked up at the others. She turned her smile up to 100-watt. "Please. Why don't you all sit down?"

Alan chose the seat on the other side of Charlie. He had heard what his son said, and he didn't blame him – on either count. "I truly am sorry, Charlie," he said quietly. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

Charlie recalled his meeting with Amita two weeks ago and smiled bitterly. He paraphrased her words. "Did a good job anyway."

Alan blinked, drew in a quick intake of breath. "I deserve that," he answered. The three FBI agents sat silently in a group of chairs facing the Eppes. Charlie caught a look from Megan, full of suspicion, and looked quickly away.

He breathed deeply himself, then cautiously reached out to touch his father's arm. "Let's not do this," he suggested. "Let's not keep score. We never have before. Neither of us has really been himself lately."

Alan nodded and was about to say, "I agree," when he thought that might set Charlie off even more. He was still searching for the right words when he felt Charlie stiffen beside him. He followed his son's gaze down the hospital corridor and felt his heart skip a beat.

Barking orders to a nurse, scribbling in a chart and dictating into a recorder all at the same time, a man in scrubs, wearing a stetchoscope, strode to the perimeter of the waiting area. He clicked off the recorder, stopped, and planted his feet shoulder-width apart. "EPPES!", he bellowed. "WHO'S HERE FOR DON EPPES?"


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: My only purpose in this world is to provide enjoyment to the drooling fans of the CBS television show "numb3rs". As soon as they start airing seven-hour episodes, and doing some serious character development, I will kindly return the boys.**

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

**How Did This Happen? Chapter 13**

Don simply didn't understand.

Every time he could pull his scrambled brains together enough to focus, someone was telling him he was fine.

However, since he was usually throwing up when they said it, and apparently expelling a small Volkswagen through his chest at the same time, he had a hard time believing it.

At one point, he remembered seeing his smiling father, and a grim-faced, pale Charlie. Someone he couldn't quite make out hovered behind them. He remembered throwing up on his father, then leaning his imploding head into Alan's cool hand, and letting the soothing voice lull him under, again. Just before he had given up, the image of Charlie's face floated by in fragments, and something niggled at the back of his mind. He tried to think. He must be sick. Was Charlie sick, too? He looked so pale. That was as far as his shattered mind took him, before he was pulled away from the universe.

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"_That'_s moderate?", Alan repeated unbelievingly after the doctor. "He's so miserably sick!"

The busy trauma attending grabbed a passing nurse by the sleeve. "Check on Bay 7's lab for me." She nodded and kept going, and the doctor looked at Alan again. "Yes, it's a moderate concussion -- still Grade 3, but moderate. Nausea and confusion are to be expected. Short-term memory loss would not be unheard of. That's one reason we'll keep him overnight, for observation. I've ordered something for nausea."

"What about pain?", Alan asked. "I know you said his ribs are mostly just bruised, but I could tell that he was in pain."

The doctor started walking, and Alan trotted after him. "Yeah, well, throwing up with bruised ribs hurts like a son-of-a-bitch. I'll give him something mild, but we don't want to give him too much with that head injury." The doctor stopped so suddenly Alan ran into his back. He whipped his hand-held recorder out of his pocket, switched it on and barked, "517. Possible herniated disk, MVA. Patient scheduled for CT scan and MRI." He clicked off the recorder and started walking, again. "Listen," he said to Alan, who had drawn up beside him, "he'll be upstairs in about an hour, as soon as his ribs are taped and the room is ready. Let's talk about home care. Who's gonna do it?"

"I am," Alan said instantly. "He's staying with me."

The doctor stopped outside an exam room and put a hand on the door. He didn't even look at Alan. "Good. Doc upstairs will give you instructions in the morning when you take him home. I'd imagine about a month of desk duty. Shop Huntington-Memorial for all your health care needs." Abruptly, he pushed open the door and disappeared inside.

Alan stood, half-stunned, feeling almost as if he had been hit by a bus. Then he turned and saw that Charlie had followed them all the way down the hall. Behind him, he could see Colleen and Don's team sitting in the waiting area. He smiled shakily at his youngest. "Well. Sounds like I can take him home in the morning."

"I want to stay for a few hours, at least," Charlie informed him. "I'm with you. He looked so miserable."

Alan glanced down the corridor again. "Charlie," he said gently, "she's in her first trimester. This is a delicate time. You need to take your wife back to the apartment. She shouldn't be exposed to all this stress, or to all the illnesses wandering around the Trauma Center looking for a home."

Charlie wanted to scream, wanted to hit something, wanted to cry. She wasn't his wife, and she wasn't pregnant. Now, he couldn't even stay at the hospital with his injured brother. "She's healthy," he started, lamely. "I can send her back, and you can drop me off later. Or I can take a cab."

His father looked at him with nothing but compassion. "Son, I understand. I wouldn't want to leave him tonight, either. But you heard the doctor – he's going to be fine. You've made a commitment to this woman and this child, Charlie."

Now Charlie thought _he_ might throw up on his father too. He should aim for the damp area on his sweater where Alan had washed off Don's vomit. "Please," he heard himself whine, his voice breaking.

Alan sighed. "It's up to you, Charlie. You know what I think…and I know that I have not put myself in a position lately where that should matter to you. This is what marriage and family sometimes requires of us, son – sacrifice."

Charlie did start crying, then, and he turned away quickly so that Alan would not see. Sacrifice? He _had_ sacrificed, he _was_ sacrificing -- almost certainly his future with Amita, very nearly his relationship with his father, and now, precious hours with his brother. "I'll call you tomorrow," he said, thickly. Then he walked down the hall toward his wife.

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Colleen brought a cup of the long-ago-started coffee to Charlie in the living room. He was sitting on the couch, attempting to read term papers. It had not escaped her attention that he had not turned a page in 10 minutes.

She handed him the coffee and sat in the recliner facing the couch. She leaned forward a little, resting her elbows on her knees. "Now that Martinez has made contact," she started, "we need to go on high alert. It could happen at any time. Are you ready?"

He dropped the paper to his lap and took a sip of coffee. He placed the mug carefully on the end table next to the couch. "I saw someone follow us from the hospital," he said. "I think I saw him inside, too. One of the Martinez crew."

She shook her head. "No. I saw him, too. He was NSA."

Charlie looked startled. "The NSA is following us now, too?"

"They have been, the whole time. While you were with your Dad and the doctor, I stepped outside and put in a call to Tompkins – that guy will be looking for a new job tomorrow. Neither one of us should have seen him."

"Why is the NSA following us?"

She tilted her head and looked a little worried. "You do realize the point is to apprehend Martinez and as many of his cell as we can, don't you? How did you think we would do that? Were you thinking I could take them all on in some kind of 'Power Rangers' hand-to-hand combat?"

Charlie looked at her sourly. "If I had been thinking at all," he said, "I would have told Bob Tompkins exactly where he…"

"Charlie," Colleen interrupted. "Let's go over it again."

He sighed. "I made a mistake," he answered, moving from sour to sarcastic. "Last year, I decoded some intercepted, encrypted intel from this terrorist named 'Samson', of all things, Now, you people expect me to convince one of the most feared maniacs in the world that I _am_ Samson. After I manage to accomplish that, it's simple. All I have to do is persuade his in-house computer experts that I am writing an encryption that will aim five nuclear-powered weapons in Russia – weapons that don't officially exist, by the way ­ -- at L.A. Of course, what I will really be doing is stealing all the information off his hard drive. Oh. And simultaneously feeding it to the NSA so that they can arrange concurrent apprehensions of cell members around the world. That way, no-one gets tipped off and slips through the net. Eventually, when Bobby is convinced I have done the best I can, the Calvary will rush in to save us – and take all the credit for securing Martinez. Is that correct?"

Colleen leaned back in the chair and smiled, a dimple showing in her left cheek. "Yeah. I'd say that's pretty much it."


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer: My only purpose in this world is to provide enjoyment to the drooling fans of the CBS television show "numb3rs". As soon as they start airing seven-hour episodes, and doing some serious character development, I will kindly return the boys.**

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

**How Did This Happen? Chapter 14**

Although Charlie had not had classes on Fridays that semester, he was headed for campus this Friday, anyway. It was his tradition to offer additional office hours just before finals, and his students knew it. Before he left the aparment, he had called the hospital and asked to speak with Don. His nurse had informed him that Don was sleeping, had passed a restless night, but was doing well, overall.

Students were waiting in the hall for him before 8:00 a.m. At 10:00, ushering one group out and seeing another in line, he had taken ten minutes for himself. He gently closed his office door – something he did so rarely that students always respected the gesture – sat behind his desk and found his cell phone. He managed to get ahold of his father. Alan would probably tell him more than the nurse had.

"Good morning, son!" Alan sounded chipper enough, and had obviously figured out that call display feature.

"Hi, Dad. How's Don this morning?"

Charlie heard a grunt in the background. "We're just loading him up in the car right now, Charlie. He's been released."

Charlie smiled in relief, then frowned. "Who's helping you? Somebody who works for the hospital?"

"No, no." Alan was starting to sound distracted. "Colby and David came by, just in time. They're going to help me get him settled at home,"

Charlie tapped his fingers on his desk. "I would have come, Dad."

"Oh, I know, son. But finals are only a week away, I know how busy you must be!"

Charlie forced himself to take a few seconds. Being busy with finals had never kept him from being part of the family before. He tried to shove aside his hurt feelings. "Well, can I at least come over, later?"

"Colby, have you got that?"

Charlie tried again, a little louder. "Dad!"

"Hm? What? I'm sorry, Charlie, it's a bit hectic right now."

"I asked if I could come over, later."

"Charlie, it's still your house. You can come over whenever you want to. I'm not sure Don will be awake."

Surely he was going to be allowed to see Don, today! "Ever? All day?"

"Well, Charlie, he's still pretty sick. Dizzy, and throwing up. I was afraid they might not let him go, but the doctor says this is normal with a concussion. I have a lot of medication to give him, including something stronger they're finally letting him take for the pain. Getting him home will be a big strain – he'll be exhausted."

Charlie tried to sit quietly and take it like a man, but moisture pressed at the back of his eyes, and he actually sniffed. Alan must have heard him. He spoke more gently. "Tell you what, Charlie. Why don't you and Colleen come over tomorrow – about mid-morning. You know I like to do the marketing on Saturday mornings. You can stay with him while I do that – I won't feel so rushed, if you're here. I'll leave something nice you can all have for lunch."

Tomorrow. Charlie was having an increasingly difficult time believing that there would be a tomorrow. "Can I talk to him now?" He hated the way his voice sounded. Petulant, whiny, needy, weak, begging. Why couldn't he have sounded this way when Robert Tompkins had called him?

"Of course." There was a scratching sound. "Just a minute." Alan's voice, muffled. "David is just fastening his seat belt…thank you, boys!"

More scratching. "'Lo…"

Charlie heard the slur of Don's voice and smiled happily. "Hi, Donnie! How are you, today?"

"Don' geddid. Daz goin to work wid us."

Oh, boy. Don was stoned. "No he's not, bro, you're going home for a few days. It's okay."

"ARLIE!" Don yelled loud enough to make Charlie jump.

"Don?", he asked, apprehensively.

"Thad hurd," Don finished in a confused tone. "Why'd ya do dat?"

"Um…sorry…" Sounded like Dad was right about Don taking the rest of the day off.

"Okee. Dokeee. Arlie, wherzmy shock? Da bloooo un."

Charlie wasn't surprised to hear his father's voice again. "I'm sorry, Charlie, I want to get him home before he's down for the count."

Charlie sighed. "Yeah. Yeah, sounds like you should. Call me if you need something, okay?" Charlie considered slamming himself over the head with the phone until either his head or the phone broke.

There was a few seconds of silence, then the voice Charlie remembered from before everything changed , was there. The father he had before NSA, and Colleen, and the last two weeks. The daddy who always understood him – or at least tried to. "Little One. Don't work so hard. Take care of yourself. You're all right?"

And Charlie remembered that it was harder, when Dad was Dad. He choked back a sob. "Fine. See you in the morning."

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Almost four hours later, when he finally staggered away from his office and stumbled into the faculty lounge, in search of food and water, Charlie decided that he should have gone with the cell-phone-over-the-head bit.

He pushed the door of the lounge open, and slammed it into Amita, who had been just about to come out.

He stared at her in shock. "Oh, no. Amita…Dr. Rajmujan, I'm so sorry. Are you all right?"

She held his eyes for a moment and then glanced down at her wet blouse. "I'm fine," she answered. "It's only water. It will dry."

Charlie noticed then that she was holding a half-full bottle of water. The other half seemed to be on her left breast. He tried not to notice the protruding nipple, tried not to think about what that had felt like in his hand. He looked quickly away. "Please, I'd be happy to replace the blouse…" _I'd be happy to rip it off you right now_, he thought, and felt himself redden.

She may have noticed, because she suddenly crossed her arms over her chest. "I spoke with Megan, this morning. Some of Larry's students want to send him a message, and I called to ask how to go about that. Anyway, she told me about Don. I'm very sorry. I'm glad he wasn't more seriously injured."

Charlie nodded blindly, still looking somewhere over her right shoulder, and swallowed. "Dad took him home this morning. He's staying at the house."

She stiffened. "Such a happy little group you must be."

He lowered his eyes to hers again, momentarily confused. When he figured it out, he reddened, again. "Oh. Oh, no…Colleen and I aren't there, right now." He decided to leave it at that. He wanted this conversation to be over, before he either threw up, told Amita everything, or kissed her.

She shifted uncomfortably. "I should get back to my office." She looked pointedly at him, and he realized he was still blocking the doorway.

He stepped hurriedly inside. As he turned slightly sideways to avoid touching her, he saw a group of students passing in the hall. They were staring, and snickering. Charlie began to smolder. Amita had done nothing to deserve that. No wonder she wanted off campus. He hung his head a little and contemplated the floor. "I'm really sorry," he whispered.

"Yes," she breathed, as she hurried past. "You are."

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Millions of miles away, Larry orbited the earth and absently twisted his ear. Most of his fellow astronauts were sleeping, and he should have been, as well. He was not on duty.

When he had been earthbound, he had spent countless hours dreaming of moments like this. Experiences that – quite literally – defied gravity. Yet, now that he was living out his dearest fantasy, he found himself thinking on the things of earth.

He thought often of Megan. His only regret in everything was the timing of this opportunity. He had allowed his world to become too small, and she had reminded him how much was out there, just waiting to be known.

He missed his students, but was not sorry to be missing finals. He had spent too many years rotating on the same axis. He would be a better teacher, upon his return.

His hand lowered a little to tug at his earlobe, and he thought of Charlie. He felt an unwelcome uneasiness, as he thought of his friend. He found himself hoping, very hard, that Charlie was well.

He remembered, suddenly, a sentimental suggestion that Megan had made before he left. He had laughed at the absurdity, and had never actually done it. But now, thinking of Charlie, he found himself heading for the observation room.

He wanted to locate just the right star…and make a wish.


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer: Characters from the wildly popular CBS drama "numb3rs" are respectfully, and without personal profit, borrowed.**

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**How Did This Happen? Chapter 15**

Charlie was at the damn Scholarship Committee meeting until almost midnight, but still he and Colleen were at the house by 10:00 a.m. Alan, still full of nervous energy, ushered them into the living room. Don was bundled into the recliner, his pale, stubbled face a picture of unhappiness. He glared at his father. "Don't need a babysitter," he grumbled. He glanced at Charlie and Colleen. "So he gets me two."

Don was unhappy already, when his brother had arrived. He was sore. His ribs were taped so tightly it was difficult to breathe. He was still dizzy, and had nearly fallen down the stairs twice this morning — pulling Alan with him. He could smell a stew cooking, and it was making him feel like he might be sick, again. When Charlie and Colleen had entered, he felt himself growing into anger. He truly resented the reality that he probably shouldn't be alone while his father went to the market. Also, as soon as he had seen Charlie, he had been assailed by the feeling that there was something he was supposed to remember. Damn concussion. Then, Colleen stepped into his line of sight, and he remembered that he thought his brother's wife was hot, and he had ever since he'd first seen her. Why couldn't that have been one of the things he had forgotten?

"There's some stew simmering, and I made some fresh cornbread this morning," Alan said, watching his eldest. "Just warm it up in the microwave." He looked at Charlie. "I should only be a few hours. I like to check the produce and vegetables at that farmer's market out on the highway." He winced. He did sound like he was giving instructions to a babysitter. He cleared his throat and refused to look at Don. "Anyway. Charlie, Colleen, I was thinking. I'm sure you'll want to come by tomorrow, too, and I know what next week will be like for you, son. Do you think we could have a nice Sunday dinner together? Donnie will be feeling better tomorrow, I'm sure. I thought I would get a fresh turkey at the market, Charlie."

Charlie glanced at Colleen, who seemed to be having some difficulty wrenching her attention away from Don. She started a little on the couch next to him, and smiled broadly at Alan. "Would it be too much trouble to make a homemade stuffing? I'd be pleased to help. I love homemade stuffing."

Alan smiled. "Celery? Apple? Chestnut?"

"My grandmother always made it with both celery and apples."

Alan nodded. "Of course. I've done that, myself. A very satisfying dish — makes excellent leftovers. Yes, yes, I'll get the ingredients for that, as well. Charlie? Would you like some sweet potatoes?"

God, this conversation was inane. "It's not Thanksgiving, Dad," he answered, irritibly.

"Beer," intoned Don right after him.

Alan frowned. "There will be no mixing alcohol with your concussion or your pain medication, young man." He started to turn and head for the kitchen. "I'll have my cell, if you need anything," he reminded them all, then continued planning his menu. "I'll make some yeast rolls this afternoon. The boys always loved my yeast rolls. Some fresh butter from the farmer's market…" He disappeared into the kitchen, and in spite of everything, Charlie felt his heart warm. He honestly did love Alan's yeast rolls. He was almost salivating when his father's head poked back around the door. "Donnie, tell me if it's too much. I was thinking we should invite Megan."

Don tried to shift in the chair. Colleen jumped off the couch to help. He felt her hand slide behind his back, and noted the faint scent of lilac when she bent over him. He smiled into startlingly blue eyes, then forced his attention back to Alan. "Huh? Did you say something?"

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It was the longest two-and-a-half hours in recent memory for any of them.

Don kept watching Charlie, trying to fill in the blanks in his head. All he succeeding in doing was intensifying his headache. He occasionally watched Colleen, when he thought she wasn't looking. He appreciated the view as she walked toward the kitchen, to check the stew, for instance. Then he looked back at Charlie, saw his brother staring at him, and blushed guiltily.

Charlie had stood up and walked to the thermometer on the wall under the staircase. "Dad keeps it too hot in here," he had muttered. He was gone a long time. Colleen came back and handed Don some water, their fingers lightly touching and making Don dizzy, again. When Charlie had come back, he wouldn't look Don in the eye and talked randomly about the laundry facilities in Don's apartment complex for almost 10 minutes.

Don fell asleep once in the chair — all right, so he was faking it. He reclined there with his eyes closed and found it somewhat interesting that Charlie and Colleen didn't seem to have anything to say to each other.

Finally, after choking down a few bites of stew — worrying the entire time that he would decorate Charlie's shoes with it any second — Don did something he had never done before in his life. He played the sick card. As pitifully as he could, he asked Charlie to help him go upstairs, claiming he needed to lie down for a while. He hid in his bedroom until his father came up an hour later, surprised and worried when Charlie told him about the uncharacteristic retreat, lugging pain pills and water, and threatening to cancel the next day's dinner.

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As tempted as he momentarily was to let his father do just that, Don found part of his senses returning, once Colleen was out of the house. He had to get himself under control. He wouldn't spend the rest of Charlie's marriage avoiding his brother's…family.

He could do this.

He woke up Sunday still convinced that it would be all right. Megan would be here, and that would take some of the awkwardness out of things – he hoped. Besides, he was feeling better physically. Even though he was still plagued with dizziness and fragmented memories, he hadn't thrown up in almost 24 hours. The unwelcome heaving had excaberated his rib injuries; without it, even his tightly wrapped chest was easier to withstand.

The women disappeared into the kitchen with Alan soon after they arrived, leaving Charlie and Don alone in the living room. The television was tuned to a sports network, sound turned low. More sober than he had been in three days, Don studied Charlie and felt again the unnerving feeling that he was forgetting something important.

Charlie nursed a bottle of water and quietly watched the game. Well…he was staring in the general direction of the television, but Don got the feeling he had no idea whether or not it was even on. "Buddy," he started, quietly.

Charlie placed the water on the coffee table and started to stand. "What do you need?"

Don lifted a hand. "Nothing, I'm good. Sit down. Really."

Charlie hesitated, then obeyed. He looked questioningly at Don. "Um…did you just say 'Buddy'? I'm a little distracted."

Don smiled gently. "Yeah. I see that. And yeah, I called you. I just wanted to ask…"

Charlie arched a brow. "What?"

Don rubbed his palms on the legs of his jeans. "You seem a little…strained."

Charlie actually expelled a huff of laughter, and Don looked a little affronted. Charlie shook his shaggy head. "I'm sorry. That's nice, really. That you're concerned, I mean."

He fell silent and Don tugged a little harder. "You okay?"

Charlie seemed to consider. "Let's see. A little over two weeks ago, I married a virtual stranger. Simultaneously, I sort-of had a fight with my girlfriend, and we broke up. So I kind-of miss her. My best friend is about 2.1 million miles away, so he hasn't been much help. My father had a slightly bad reaction to developments. I'm grading term papers, preparing for finals, working longer hours for a boss I can't stand – who's also dating my father, by the way – and what else…Oh. My brother got himself shot in the line of duty. Again." Once he got going, Charlie was having a difficult time stopping. He almost told Don everything. He bit back a sigh. "I think that qualifies as stressful."

Don floundered. "You forgot one."

"What?"

"You're pregnant," the older brother answered. Charlie paled dramatically and Don almost laughed, but then took pity on him. "You know what I mean. You're going to be a father."

"Oh," Charlie murmured. "Yeah." His color didn't come rushing back, and he didn't seem about to say any more.

Don looked toward the kitchen to make sure they were still alone and spoke seriously. "Charlie, he's trying. He feels badly." He could see the flash of steel in Charlie's eyes from across the room.

"He behaved badly, so that seems only fair," he said. He looked away briefly, then turned suspiciously shimmering eyes to Don. He spoke softly. "The way he acted, the things he said…they really hurt me, Don."

"I know, Buddy." Don was not unsympathetic. "Enough to cancel out the almost-33 years before?"

Charlie stood slowly from the couch. "I don't want to hold a grudge, I don't think I am. But all my life, Donnie, all my life...I didn't believe there was anything either one of us could do, that would make him stop loving us. I guess I'm afraid there is, now. What's he going to do when…" He stopped speaking suddenly.

Don looked up at him. "When what?"

Charlie ran his hand through his hair. "When…when I screw up next time," he finished, lamely. He barely looked at Don. "I need to go up to my room for some things. You okay here, or do you want me to get someone?"

"I'm fine," Don murmured, as he watched Charlie trudge slowly up the stairs. He squirmed a little in the recliner.

He needed his memories back.

All of them.


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer: Once upon a time, there was the family Eppes, their friends – and FraidyCat. It was a codependent relationship. None of them profited from any other (unless you count those Season 1 DVDs FC bought), but they hung out together, nonetheless.**

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**How Did This Happen? Chapter 16**

Colleen handed Megan the turkey baster. "It's only been 10 minutes," she repeated.

Megan headed for the stove. "Charlie likes his turkey moist." She glanced at the cutting board on the kitchen table in front of Colleen. "And smaller pieces of celery. He likes the crunch, but he doesn't really want to know what he's eating."

Colleen had taken one or two psychology courses herself, during her training. She smiled sweetly at Megan's back, so that it would show in her voice. "Thank-you. I still have so much to learn about Charlie. He's told me a lot about his friend Larry. You're dating him, aren't you?"

Megan basted the bird, which was already drowning, closed the oven door and turned around. "Yes," she confirmed, a little defiantly. "I'm very proud of him."

Colleen kept chopping, smiling at the celery. "Oh, you must be. Charlie is, too – even though he misses him terribly. I'm sure you know what I mean. How does this celery look?"

Megan took a step toward the table. "That's good," she began. "Yes, I know what Charlie means. It's difficult not to be able to spend time with him."

Colleen dumped the celery in a bowl and grabbed another stalk. "A woman doing your job needs her friends," she nodded. "Charlie says you're very good. He thinks the world of you."

Megan smiled a little, pulled a chair out and sat down opposite Colleen. "He amazes me at least twice a week," she admitted. "All the Eppes men have been good friends; especially with Larry gone."

Colleen looked up and grinned. "I guess you could say he's been 'out-of-town', huh?"

Megan laughed. "Absolutely. You'll see. This family embraces."

Colleen frowned a little and looked toward the swinging door. Alan was setting the dining room table. She whispered. "Papa Bear still wants to know why I slept in Charlie's bed. I think he's coming around, though."

Megan stifled another laugh. "Pass me the bowl of apples and the peeler."

Colleen pushed them across the table. "Thank-you. Seriously, I'm not unaware of how difficult this has been for everyone. It's crazy, but I find myself feeling badly because my husband had to break up with his girlfriend."

Megan looked at her kindly. "Well…if he was thinking about doing that, Alan and Don didn't know. They were shocked."

Colleen played her trump card. "Oh." She wiped a tear from her eye and stilled her chopping. She looked down at her lap. "I thought you knew. He wasn't really headed down that road. We just had one…very successful and fruitful…night together, while he was out of town almost three months ago."

Megan controlled her features, and thanked the Lord she was sitting down. She cast about for something to say. She finally concentrated fully on her apple and settled for, "Just give them all a little time. And yourself, too. I'm sure it will all work out."

Colleen sniffed dramatically, and allowed her voice to tremble. "I'm sure you're right." She pushed back her chair a little and grabbed the bowl of celery. "Time to do the onions," she said, rising to exchange bowls. She turned and walked toward the counter behind her to retrieve the two yellow onions that waited there. She smiled broadly all the way.

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If anything, Don noted dismally about halfway through the meal, Colleen was more charming than she had been last week. Apparently she had made the stuffing, as well. If she ever gave up teaching, she could be a chef – it was that good. Don had to remind himself not to eat too much. He didn't want to tempt his just-settled stomach into misbehaving, again.

Colleen and Megan were getting along tremendously, and Don was glad Alan had thought to include the other agent. It was a win-win situation. The two women occasionally giggled like schoolgirls, and Megan's presence in any situation always had a calming effect. Alan seemed happier and more relaxed than he had since Charlie's sudden marriage.

All-in-all, it was a much more successful meal than their attempt four days ago. Charlie didn't seem to be eating much more than Don, though, and he grew quieter as the others grew louder. During dessert, Megan caught him squinting at Alan, ignoring his pumpkin-eggnog pie. "Is something wrong, Charlie?"

Everyone looked at him then. He started to shake his head, then stopped. He spoke hesitantly. "Does anyone else see rainbow halos around all the light fixtures?"

Alan looked at him sharply. "Charlie. Did you take your Imitrex to the apartment?"

Charlie looked a little confused. "I don't know. I guess I have a little headache, but it's not that bad."

Alan looked at Charlie's untouched pie, and thought of his half-full plate when he had cleared it off the table. "Rainbow halos? Son, that sounds like one of those migraine auras to me.You remember last time…" He pushed back his chair and stood. "I'll go upstairs and look for your medication."

Charlie stood as well, a little slowly, Don thought. "I'll come too, Dad. You check the bathroom, I'll check my bedroom."

Alan looked apologetically at Colleen and Megan. "This has been such a joy, ladies. Megan, I hope you can stay a while. When we find the medication, Colleen, you should probably get Charlie back to the apartment so he can take some right away. These 'rainbow halos' are usually not a good sign."

"I understand," she agreed. She watched Charlie and Alan start up the stairs and then looked at Megan. "Why don't you and Don take your dessert and coffee out where it's more comfortable? I'll just clean off the table and make sure the leftovers are taken care of."

Megan protested. "I'm happy to help, Colleen…"

Colleen smiled. "You'll be doing me a favor if you don't," she insisted. "Let me make some points with my father-in-law."

Megan surrendered at that, and carried coffee and pie into the living room for herself and Don. On her second trip, with the plates of pie, she walked beside Don, ready to help if needed. She was standing by while he settled back in the recliner, when Colleen disappeared into the kitchen with the last of dinner.

She had loaded the dishwasher and was looking for some plastic wrap, or aluminum foil, when the cell on her right hip vibrated. She froze with her hand halfway to the cupboard. That was Martinez.

She looked around quickly, then quietly opened the kitchen door, closed it behind her, and headed for the koi pond at the edge of the property. She answered the phone halfway there. "Yes?"

"Delilah. I want to congratulate you again on the double life you and Samson have led, all these years. Had I discovered sooner who you were, I would not have worked with you. In fact, I probably would have had you both killed."

She paced the edge of the pond and watched the fish. "Jorge. Have we not done well by you?"

His voice smiled. "Ah, my dear. Of course you have. It amuses me greatly, now. To think that Samson may have used privileged information he obtained through FBI channels on my projects. He must truly hate his brother, to use him in such a way."

Was Martinez fishing? "Family relationships can be very complicated," she finally said.

"So true," he sighed. "Yet Samson's talent seems to extend beyond computers, and mathematics. He must be an Oscar-worthy actor, as well. My people informed me of your headlong rush to the hospital. I understand you are even now at the house, sharing a meal with two FBI agents. You impress me, Delilah, both of you. If I did not know your work so well, I would be worried."

She scanned the horizon rapidly, looking for the glint of a range finder, or binoculars. "One cultivates the resources one has," she said, coolly. "His poor family thinks we just met three months ago."

Jorge laughed into his end of the connection. "Oh, my dear, how you and Samson must enjoy yourselves in the marriage bed at night!"

"I'm sure you must have video, by now," she teased, and listened to him laugh delightedly again.

His voice turned serious. "Delilah my dear, you and Samson will need to come to me soon. Within the next ten days."

"How long will this job take? Other parties have expressed interest in contracting our services."

"This is...an impressive project, Delilah. Your other parties may change their minds, when they see what I do. Knowing Samson, the job will take only a few days. While he works, we will all be at sea, headed for a safe place to ride out the storm. You will not be able to return to Los Angeles for some time. You should be prepared for that. Begin transferring your assets now."

"Of course. Thank-you, Jorge. I look forward to finally meeting you in person."

"And I you, my dear. Until then."

Colleen flipped the phone shut and hung it back on her hip. She nearly screamed in frustration. At sea? How the hell could she sneak a few dozen NSA agents onto a private yacht? She turned to go back to the house. She frowned at the ground and took a few steps, looked up, and froze.

Don stood at the kitchen window.

Almost on top of him, one floor overhead, Charlie stood at his bedroom window.

They were both watching her.

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**A/N: On my last cruise, I surfed the Internet in one of the ship's lounges. Connections were a little slow, but I know it can be done.**


	17. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer: I can be bought, for a price. My fan fiction, however, cannot. It is FREE. Therefore, there is no profit. This is a nonprofit agency.**

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**How Did This Happen? Chapter 17**

Charlie and Alan had not been able to find any Imitrex. He hoped that did not mean he had let it run out again – he told his father he was sure he had packed it.

So Colleen drove him back to the apartment. She knew he really didn't feel well when he didn't question her about the koi pond phone call, but leaned against the passenger window all the way back, his eyes closed.

As it was, she barely got the apartment door unlocked before he lurched past her, into the bathroom. When she first peered tentatively inside from the hallway, she came as close to panicking as an undercover NSA agent could. The poor guy seemed to be upchucking a lung and several pints of blood into the commode.

She stepped a little closer and identified turkey. The she remembered the cranberry sauce, and hoped that was what the red stuff was. She patted him on the back and hurried into Don's room, where Charlie had been staying. She rifled through his bags until she found the Imitrex, which she took back into the bathroom.

By now, Charlie was sitting on the floor, pale and miserable. "Could you turn out the light?", he asked in a whisper.

"You should give yourself your shot first." She handed him the medication, hesitating at the last second. "Or do you need me to do it?"

He grabbed for the self-injector, his hand shaking so badly he missed twice. "Stop yelling," he pleaded.

She watched him give himself the shot. It was a testament to his misery that he dropped trou in front of her and did it. If she needed any further proof, she got it when he silently allowed her to help him into Don's room, and then let her wrestle him out his jeans and sweater, and into some sweats and a t-shirt.

She pulled the shirt over his head and stepped back. "Lie down, now," she ordered.

He shook his head in a barely perceptible motion. "Sick…"

Colleen looked frantically around and barely got a trash can in his lap in time for the sweet potatoes to make an appearance. When he seemed to be done, she left him for a moment to step to the refrigerator in the kitchen and grab a bottle of water. She walked quickly back to the bedroom and offered it to him.

Charlie rinsed out his mouth, took a tiny sip, and began to list to the side. She took the water from him and set it on the nightstand, then helped him lie down. "Turn out the light," he begged again, weakly.

Colleen wasn't sure what to do about that, since the light was off. She finally opted to turn off the hall light and nearly close the door, so that the light from the living room would not leak in, but she would still be able to hear him. She did those things as she left him, and took the Imitrex container with her to the living room. She turned on one small lamp, and leaned close to the light to read the dosing instructions.

Colleen had been a tomboy as a child, had a degree in police science, certification in several fields from the NSA training facility – and, despite her embarasing and uncharacteristic rush to help Don earlier, absolutely no interest or experience in caregiving. Still, she managed to assist Charlie into a dark bathroom around midnight, so the pumpkin-eggnog pie he had looked at (but not eaten), could somehow be replicated in the toilet bowl. While he huddled on the floor, she darted next door and changed the bed. The pie was following the broccoli casserole, which had not quite made it to the proper disposal area. Then, she helped Charlie change his t-shirt – he had managed to miss his sweats – nearly gagging, herself.

When the fun-filled experience was repeated around 4:00 a.m., with the added bonus of Charlie crying, Colleen again did what she could. After she got him back in the freshly-changed bed, she turned on the light long enough to give him another injection of his medication. She honestly felt sorry for the guy. She had no idea migraines could be so debilitating. She was a bitch when she had a simple headache.

After a two-hour nap in the guest room, the sound of pyrotechnical puking served as her alarm. By the time she reached Charlie, he was swaying on the edge of the bed, having managed the trash can, this time. She got him some fresh water, which he accepted gratefully and held to his head, rather than drinking it. "This is bad," he whispered.

"Got it handled," Colleen assured him, because that is what any good undercover agent would say. She persuaded him to sip a little water, fearing dehydration, settled him back in bed and headed for the living room. She had never managed to get her clothes off last night, and now she unclipped her secure NSA cell phone from her hip, flipped it open and punched a number. She studied a photo of Don's graduating Quantico class on one of the end tables, waiting for a connection. She sighed in relief when a man finally answered. "Nightengale," she greeted. "This is Raven. I have a problem."

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The NSA medical operative known as "Nightengale" ripped the blood pressure cuff off Charlie's arm. He looked at Colleen, who was standing near the end of the bed watching. "When was the last self-injection?"

"4:00 a.m."

He _harrumphed_. "Ordinarily, I would say to let him sleep it off. His BP is all right – not great, but okay – but his pulse is a little rapid. I usually wouldn't give any more, at this juncture…but I know you may need to move at any moment." Still he hesitated, then rummaged through the medical bag resting near Charlie's hip. "This is what I'll do. I can give him a half-dose, and something else for the nausea. You need to push fluids on him, and we need to keep some actually inside him."

Charlie, who had lolled in some alternate universe during the entire exam, chose this moment to roll toward the edge of the bed and heave bile all over the doctor. 'Nightengale' swore, reaching to steady his patient and looking toward Colleen. "For instance," he said drily. "This is what we want to avoid."

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With the tiniest bit of encouragement from Alan, Megan decided to come by for lunch Monday. Leftover turkey sandwiches. She brought David with her.

Don greeted them as they entered the living room, where he was again ensconced in the recliner. He was infinitely more comfortable since his visit to his private physician that morning. While he still had bouts of dizziness and kept discovering things he had forgotten, at least the doctor had used about half as much product to re-wrap his ribs, and had applied it a little less tightly.

He looked behind them, as if expecting someone else. "Colby couldn't make it?"

"He's on vacation this week," Megan reminded him.

"Did I know that?", Don inquired.

David smiled and nodded. "Signed off on it. Which reminds me…" he rattled some papers in his hand. "With both of you out, Merrick re-assigned all our open cases and more-or-less ordered Megan and I to take some of our own backed-up time. I brought the forms for you to sign, since we were coming anyway."

Don slowly lowered the chair and reached for the papers. "Anybody actually going anywhere? I need a pen."

David leaned over, picked one up off the coffee table and handed it to Don. "Granger is in Idaho visiting family. I thought I might catch a few days in Vegas."

Don scribbled his signature and moved to another sheet of paper. He glanced up at Megan. "How about you? Do they allow conjugal visits on the space shuttle?" He was proud of himself for remembering what Larry was doing. Hell, he was proud of himself for remembering Larry.

Megan blushed. "Don't be disgusting. I'll probably just rearrange some things at my place, free up some space – in case Larry needs somewhere to stay when he gets back."

Don grinned and looked back at the papers. His brow furrowed and he held one up and showed it to them. "What's this?"

"That's right," David answered. "You got that fax toward the end of last week. The day of the bust, I think. Looks like it's from an attorney at Wentworth, Trammel & Howe."

The names seemed oddly familiar to Don. He turned the sheet around and looked at it again: "No license issued under that name. Rick Wagner."

Memories came rushing back to Don as a dam burst inside his head. The onslaught actually made him a little dizzy, but he struggled to stand, anyway.

"Oh, my God." He lurched out of the chair and papers flew all over the living room. "I've got to talk to Charlie."


	18. Chapter 18

**Disclaimer: Pay attention, already. How many times do I have to tell you?**

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**How Did This Happen? Chapter 18**

Alan entered the living room from the kitchen just in time to see David reach out a steadying hand to an obviously distraught Don. He hurried to his son's side. "What is it? What's wrong? Should I call a doctor?"

Don tried feebly to push him away. "Gotta go, Dad. I need to see Charlie."

David was still steadying Don with a hand on one arm, and now Alan grabbed the other. He spoke sternly. "Oh, no you don't, young man. You can barely stand. Whatever it is will just have to wait."

Don looked at him pleadingly. It didn't help his case that he slurred his words, a little. "Izz important! I have to see him now." He appealed to Megan. "I won't drive. Megan and David can take me by CalSci." His brain was working, again. He even remembered to push his father's Jewish Mother button. "Slap together a turkey sandwich, and we'll take it to him for lunch…"

He seemed steady on his feet, finally, so Alan let go of his arm and took a step back. He crossed his arms over his chest. "Absolutely not. You're still exhausted from the trip to the doctor this morning. Besides, I don't even know if he's there."

Don spoke with frustration. Were some memories still scrambled? "Where else would he be? Isn't it the week before finals?"

"Yes, son, but Charlie's aura migraines usually take him down for a few days. At least call his cell, and ask if he can come here sometime today."

Don was silent. He tried to stare down Alan. Why was it he could tell his team members what to do and they would jump, but his father could make him feel 10 years old?

"I insist," Alan intoned slowly and firmly, and Don knew that he had lost. He sank back to the recliner, reaching for his cell.

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Checking on Charlie, who was asleep and not hurling, at the moment, Colleen jumped at the sound of the cell phone. She glanced around the dim room searching for the source. Charlie stirred. Sound must still be an irritant. There were no more clean sheets, and Colleen tracked the noise like a hunter. She did not want to wake him up.

Finally, she realized the jeans she had wrangled off him last night were lying in a heap on the floor, and ringing. She scooped them up and ran out the door with them as if they were on fire. She fumbled in the pockets and found the phone. When she took it out, she saw "Don" on the caller display.

She should let that go to voice mail.

She flipped it open quickly. Still breathless from her trip into the hall, she took a second to compose herself. "Hello!" Crap. She sounded like her mother, or something.

At the Craftsman, Don blinked. "Um…Colleen? Do you have Charlie's phone?"

"Yes. This is Don? How are you, today?"

"Good." He was momentarily torn between talking to her the rest of his life or getting on with business. He had two coworkers and one father watching him, so he chose business. "Are you with Charlie at CalSci? I need to talk to him."

Colleen reminded herself she was not on a date. She wondered what a concerned wife would sound like. "He didn't make it in today," she finally said sadly. "He's pretty sick. He's had that medication three times. He's sleeping, now."

Don, disappointed, looked at his father. "Three injections, huh?", he repeated.

Alan ripped the phone from his hand, surprising everyone. "Colleen? This is Alan. Did you say Charlie had three injections?"

Colleen suddenly felt like defending herself. "He's been miserable…"

Alan interrupted. "I know, I know…but he's only supposed to take two of those STATdose injections in a 24-hour period." His voice was rising in volume with each word.

Colleen still wasn't sure what a wife would do, but she was feeling more and more like a daughter-in-law. She turned on some fake waterworks. It had been a hellish night and day, so far, so it wasn't difficult. "Th- the d-d-doctor gave him the l-l-last one, and, and, at l-l-least he's stopped throwing up now…I'm s-s-sorry." She sniffed loudly. "Did I do s-s-something wrrrong?"

Alan creased his forehead in worry. "Doctor? You took him to the emergency room by yourself? You should have called me!"

She let loose with a quiet wail. "I kn-knew y-y-you had to take care of D-D-D-Don…" The last stutter was real. She could hardly say his name.

Alan took a breath. She had a point. "Shhh, Colleen, dear, I'm sorry for barking at you. You're right. I'm just sorry I couldn't help. The doctor must not have given him the full dosage…and I'm certain he checked his blood pressure first. Charlie has been to the ER with migraines a few times. I'm sure it's all in the records…" Another thought occurred to him. "You did go to Huntington?"

"Y-Yes," she lied. "You're right, they said there was something in his chart."

Alan sighed. "Maybe I should come over. Megan and David are here now to have lunch with Don, they might be able to stay for a while…"

"No!" Colleen forced herself to calm down. "I mean, that's not necessary, but thank-you. He's finally sleeping, and the doctor said that once the nausea was under control, he could be out for another 24 hours."

"That's true," Alan acquiesced. "I'm sure you can handle it." He sounded a little disappointed. "Obviously, you have been."

She remembered the third or fourth time she had cleaned up after Charlie last night, when he had been moaning for his father. Exhaustion started cascading over her in waves, and she found herself feeling badly for everyone. She threw Alan a bone. "If he was awake, I know he would want to see you. He was asking for you during the night."

Alan was a gentleman – he lobbed it back. "You should take advantage of his sleeping, dear. Get some rest yourself."

"I will," she promised, happy to say something she meant wholeheartedly.

Alan's frown became a half-smile. "Call if you need something. Don't take so much on yourself. We'll find a way to work out the logistics."

"Thank-you, Alan." She cast about for something else to say. "It's just... 'in sickness or health', you know?"

"Of course. Talk to you later, Colleen." Alan snapped the cell shut and returned it to Don.

"Told you that you weren't talking to him today," he said. He looked at the other agents. "What do you want on your sandwiches?"


	19. Chapter 19

**Disclaimer: Pay attention, already. How many times do I have to tell you?**

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**How Did This Happen? Chapter 19**

They should not have been able to sneak up on her like that.

No one ever had before. The strain of caring for Charlie for the last 24 hours, on top of the uncertainty of the assignment, finally slid Colleen into an exhausted, uneasy sleep.

Her usual alertness was blunted. In the end, when it happened, it wasn't even the man standing over her bed in the guest room that woke her up. It was the noises of distress Charlie was making from Don's room. She thought that he was sick, again.

She groaned, eyes still closed, and started to scramble towards the edge of the bed.

"You'll want to move slow, and easy," a voice said, and her eyes shot open. She was staring at someone who probably thought he was a complete stranger, but she had seen his surveillance photos. He was Martinez' right hand, Manuel Cortez.

Funny. When it actually came down to looking into the barrel of his Glock, all she could think was that she should have left her clothes on. Never sleep in the nude when you're on assignment…wasn't that in one of her classes, somewhere?

She shifted under the blankets, trying to draw them higher and bumping a foot into her ankle holster. Her eyes widened. She had grown to think of it as part of her physical body, so even when she wore the holster, she felt nude. Things were looking up.

His eyes glinted. "Such a shame, that we do not have time to get to know each other. We will have to save that for another time. Martinez awaits us."

She spoke bravely, almost brashly – considering that she was lying on her back, nearly naked. "Is it time for the project?"

He tilted his head slightly and almost smiled, to chilling effect. "Calling Nightengale was your mistake. We have known of his NSA affiliations for quite some time."

Shit. She thought fast. "Martinez knows that Samson consults for American government agencies. He finds it amusing."

His smile twisted as he followed the outline of her curves under the bedding, making her skin crawl. "He was not so amused when Nightengale begged for his life, and offered yours in its place."

She heard Charlie again and looked worriedly toward the door. "My husband has been ill."

The sneering smile faded and the Glock gestured. "You will shut your mouth. You are an agent with the NSA, and the marriage was not genuine. We know all, now. Come. Dress. Martinez awaits."

Well, damn. It was humiliating enough for him to expect her to get dressed in front of him. Then, there was also the ankle holster to consider. "In front of you?"

The sneer was back. "I am sure your job with the NSA has required you to do worse."

Her eyes lit on the pile of clothing lying in a heap next to the bed, where she had finally dropped them a few hours ago. She used one hand to keep the blankets tight around her while she rolled and reached for them with the other, dragging them under the top sheet and clutching the wad of jeans and underwear to her stomach. She would have to write her father, when this was over, and thank him for making her go on all those camping trips as a child.

She wiggled into everything, remembering the countless mornings in cold sleeping bags when she had done the same thing. There was bad news, and good news. She hadn't been able to reach her blouse, so half of her was still naked. On the other hand, her ankle holster was securely hidden.

He made a noise of impatience and she suddenly threw back the covers, revealing a rather impressive set of breasts that had stopped more than one man from speaking. It worked again.

In five seconds, she did an hour's worth of thinking.

While she stood and headed for her blouse, she considered retrieving her gun as she bent to pick it up, and blowing a third eye into his forehead, so he could get a better look. She heard Charlie again, and knew she could not do that. Whoever was with him would kill him before she could get there.

Bending over to pick up the small scrap of material, she knew that she had to abort the operation. It was something she had never done before – but her cover had never been blown, before. They would have to get Martinez another way – coming so close to being apprehended would probably persuade him to postpone his plans to take out a large chunk of L.A. The real Samson was in a federal prison, and without Charlie, he would have to find someone else. God, she hoped so, anyway.

She finished buttoning her blouse as she slipped her feet into her tennis shoes. She glared at Cortez. "May I tie them?"

She imperceptibly relaxed when he refused. "No. Open the door, slowly step into the hall." Good. He was going to make the 'abort' signal, once they got outside, easy.

She did as she was told. Another man she recognized from studying the Martinez file, Angel Davista, had a woozy Charlie propped against the wall. As soon as he saw Cortez, he exploded. "Asshole threw up on me!", he accused.

"He's sick," Colleen put in. "That's what sick people do." From the corner of her eye she saw the Glock approaching, and waited to be backhanded with it. She was surprised when it didn't happen.

"Shut-up," Cortez growled, instead. "Do not speak unless I tell you to." The Glock was turned down the hall toward Charlie. "If I have to, I will kill him here."

Colleen kept her mouth shut.

Cortez barked at Davista. "He has no shoes. We must avoid suspicion, taking them to the car. Get him some shoes."

"They're covered with vomit," Davista whined. "How normal will that look?"

Cortez sighed. "I lose patience. There is a closet, no?"

Davista protested further. "He is a sack of potatoes, this one. If I let go of him, he will go down." Colleen looked at Charlie, and figured Davista had a point. The professor leaned heavily against the wall, eyes closed, listing toward the hand that held him up. He looked almost like he was sleeping, and his color was an odd mix of green and gray.

The Glock suddenly nudged her in the ribs, hard, and a hiss escaped her. "Go to him," Cortez ordered. "Exchange places, hold him up." Again, she did as she was ordered. She watched Davista head back into Don's room and looked back at Charlie. She was startled to see his eyes open, looking back at her. He looked confused, terrified, sick and resigned all at once.

She wished she could risk at least a whisper. He was probably too far out of it to understand, but she wanted to tell him to expect action in the parking lot. They had gone over possible abort scenarios in the planning of this operation, but would he remember that, in his present condition?

He sagged a little more and closed his eyes, and Colleen tightened her grip on his arm. This might complicate matters, a little.

Davista came out with a pair of slippers and started guiding Charlie's feet into them. Cortez made a noise in the back of his throat. Davista did not even look up. "Easier," he said. "No-one will notice. It is close to dark, anyway."

When Davista stood back up, Cortez laid out the plan. "We have a vehicle, outside. Martinez wants to deal with you personally. Go down the stairs. Davista, the two of you. I will follow. My gun will not be visible, but should you try anything, I assure you it will work. As will the weapon of our driver."

Colleen risked speaking. "Why should we go? Martinez will just kill us anyway."

The familiar sneer was back. "If you make us kill you here," he informed her, "our next stop will be Pasadena. We will not use mercy on his father and brother."

Charlie groaned and opened his eyes in slits, again. With considerable effort, he pushed himself off the wall. "We'll go," he whispered.

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Davista, Colleen, Charlie, Cortez.

Colleen tried to lend as much support as she could to Charlie, going down the stairs. Her eyes scanned the parking lot, landing on what had to be their vehicle, and catching the glint of metal in the driver's hand. She looked briefly to the horizons of East and West, trusting that NSA cover was out there. She wished it was either fully daylight, or fully dark, so that the night vision would be in use.

At the bottom of the stairs, she put her hastily devised plan into action. She let Charlie bump heavily into her, and stumbled into the back of Davista. "Dammit," she protested, looking back over her shoulder at Cortez. "I told you, I need to tie my shoes." Without waiting for his approval, she dropped to do just that.

Just before all hell broke loose, she hoped that Charlie had noticed, and remembered. She had just given the signal to abort.


	20. Chapter 20

**Disclaimer: I refer you to almost any other chapter.**

**A/N: It is seriously snowing, here. If you want to read the end of our tale eventually, pray that I arrive home from work safely.**

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**How Did This Happen? Chapter 20**

The parking lot of Don's apartment complex became a shooting gallery.

Almost immediately, Davista went down. He was hit with a round from Colleen's gun, as well as with a high-powered rifle round, from the NSA agents who had received her signal. A round from the Glock whizzed past her head close enough to burn her cheek, and Colleen instinctively rolled.

Coming up on all fours, she could see several things at once. The vehicle was moving, coming to meet Cortez, who was working his way toward it, using Charlie as a shield. She recognized two NSA agents clearing the perimeter, and witnessed a firefight between them and men who came out of the shadows around the parking lot – obviously part of the Martinez crew.

She saw an Agent go down out of the corner of her eye, as she tracked Cortez. She scrambled after him, staying low, trying to get a shot clear of Charlie. She could not let him get Charlie into the car.

She stood as Cortez reached the vehicle and opened the back door. She aimed her weapon. God forgive her, she was going to have to shoot right through Charlie. She tried to judge, in the near darkness, where she could do the least amount of damage to him, and the most to Cortez.

In that moment of hesitation, a round ripped into her calf, and she dropped with a scream. The gun flew out of her hand. She lifted her head to see Cortez shoving Charlie into the car. Colleen crawled forward, grunting in pain, and managed to reach her weapon. As she palmed it, she saw the car heading directly for her, gaining speed.

Ignoring the almost blinding pain in her leg, Colleen staggered to her feet and aimed directly for the driver. She squeezed the trigger – and the gun jammed. Her last thought, before the car hit her and she bounced off the windshield, was that the gun must have been damaged when it flew out of her hand and hit the asphalt parking lot.

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Megan and David enjoyed a long, leisurely lunch with Don and Alan. They tried to distract Don, who was obviously still chomping at the bit to talk to Charlie.

Alan tried to find out why, but Don shook his head. "All I have is circumstantial evidence," he said, sounding as if his brother was on trial. "It's not fair to him for me to discuss it with anybody else before I discuss it with him."

Finally, around 2:00, the other agents left. David wanted to get back to his apartment, throw together a few things, and catch an evening flight to Vegas. Don slept the afternoon away fitfully, nearly launching himself out of the recliner a few times, while Alan watched him over the edge of a book.

He wasn't really surprised, when his son finally woke up, that Don started talking about calling Charlie again right away. He flipped open his cell, but closed it again almost immediately. He lowered the recliner and struggled to stand, looking at his father with chagrin. "Maybe I'll go to the bathroom, first."

Alan grinned into the book and stood to help Don up the stairs. "I got it, Dad," Don protested, just as the house's landline began ringing. "Answer the phone. I'm fine."

Alan hesitated and hovered near Don. "The machine will get it."

Don pushed at his father impatiently. "I came down by myself, this morning."

"And you shouldn't have," Alan insisted. "Just wait." He took a few steps into the vestibule and answered the phone. While his back was turned, Don hurried as fast as he could for the stairs.

"Eppes residence," Alan greeted. He turned to see Don halfway up the stairs and almost dropped the phone, but the word 'trauma' grabbed his attention. "What? What did you say?"

"I said I'm calling from the Huntington-Memorial Trauma Center. Colleen Simpson-Eppes has been transported here, and we are unable to reach the next-of-kin listed on her identification, Charles Eppes. Your name is listed second."

A lump of fear formed in Alan's heart. "Colleen is my daughter-in-law. What is it? Is it the baby? Is she conscious? I need to know where my son is."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Eppes, you'll need to come in and speak with a doctor for any more information. I'm just a clerk. I do understand that there were more brought in from the same location, and some are without ID."

Without even saying 'Good-bye', Alan hung up the phone, and raced up the stairs to pound on the bathroom door. Don opened it immediately. "Geez, Dad, it hasn't been that long, I was just…" He saw the look on Alan's face, and the dread passed to him. "What's wrong?"

For the second time that week, Alan found himself in the position of telling a son that they had to go to the hospital.

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The walk to the Trauma Center was more subdued than the last one, mostly because Alan was concerned and guilty about Don. "I'm sorry," he kept apologizing. "I should have thought to ask one of the neighbors to come over for a while."

Don tried to increase his pace. "I'm all right, Dad," he insisted, even though he was happy to see the waiting area just ahead. "Look, if it will make you happy, I'll rest here while you tell them we're here."

Alan wasn't fooled for a minute. After he had checked in with a triage nurse, he stopped at a water cooler to bring Don back a cold drink.

He accepted it gratefully. He was a little dizzy again, but he didn't think it was entirely due to his concussion. They were in a stressful situation, and concern was rolling off Alan in waves, breaking over Don. By the time they saw a doctor approaching 15 minutes later, however, the rest and water had Don feeling almost normal, again.

Thankfully, it was a different doctor from the harried physician who had treated Don. He offered his hand to Alan and took the time to introduce himself. "I'm Dr. Matthews, a trauma attending here. I understand I've been treating your daughter-in-law."

Alan shook his hand eagerly and started to stand, but the doctor sat down opposite them instead. "This is my son, Don," Alan offered, and Dr. Matthews shook his hand, as well. "What happened to Colleen?"

Dr. Matthews glanced at his chart. "Several people were brought in from some sort of altercation in the parking lot of an apartment complex. She sustained a bullet wound to her right calf. It tore through the fleshy part of the muscle, missing bone, and is probably the least serious of her injuries. She was also hit head-on by a car. She has a Grade 3 concussion, and some internal bleeding. A CT scan shows that the spleen is lacerated. We're going to wait a few hours to see if it clots and seals itself off. If it doesn't, we'll have to operate, and remove the spleen."

Alan paled. "Hit by a car? Shot? What…What about the baby? She's almost three months pregnant."

Dr. Matthews frowned and looked back at his chart. "Are you sure? She was unconscious upon arrival. When a female patient of child-bearing age presents unconscious, it is our practice to perform a pregnancy test before we order X-rays. Hers came back negative."

Alan looked helplessly at Don, then back to the doctor. "There must be some mistake."

"We'll certainly run another blood test," answered the physician, scribbling on the chart. He looked back at Alan. "There's something else."

Alan paled further, if possible. "What?"

Dr. Matthews spoke gently. "As I said, several victims came in from the scene. Two were taken directly to the county morgue, and they have been identified. Two men and one woman are still unconscious, all three in critical condition. They were carrying identification. We were not able to save the other man, and he had no ID. I wonder if one of you could view the body, tell us if you recognize him."

"Oh, my God," Alan gasped, and Don grabbed his arm suddenly and firmly. "Oh, my God. My youngest son is missing."

The doctor's eyes clouded with sympathy. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Eppes. Perhaps there is someone else you can call…"

"I'll do it," Don said, and his voice was so strong and sure, he almost didn't recognize it himself. The doctor and Alan both looked at him. "I'm a federal agent," he explained to Dr. Matthews. "I've done this sort of thing before."

"Surely not in these circumstances," insisted the doctor. "Perhaps if you have a photo…"

Alan reached for his back pocket, and turned heartbroken eyes to Don. "I forgot my wallet." Searching his own pockets, Don realized that he hadn't thought to bring his, either.

"Just let me do this," he said, with quiet control. "Is the…is he in the morgue?"

"Not yet," answered Dr. Matthews. "He's still awaiting transport. He's in Exam 7."

Don stood, refusing to look at either of them. "I know the way."

When he pushed open the door, slowly, the shape of the body under the sheet shot another wave of dizziness through Don, and he staggered, a little. An attempt had been made to tidy the room, but there was still evidence of blood loss and frantic life-saving efforts.

He crossed to the head of the exam table and stood silently. He had insisted on coming in alone, and now that he was here, he wasn't sure that he could do this. If he lifted that sheet and saw Charlie, it would tear his heart out right through the chest wall. There was no way in hell he could go out and tell Alan that his youngest child was dead, and he had no idea why.

Don stood for almost a full minute, nearly leaving the room and admitting his inability to do this, before a shaky hand reached toward the sheet. He pulled it slowly off the dead man's face, and felt his knees go weak.


	21. Chapter 21

**Disclaimer: I have checked with my legal staff. This job not only shows no profit, it has cost me money. I can't even write off my Dell, dude.**

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**How Did This Happen? Chapter 21**

Alan would not look up from the floor, so the first thing he saw was Don's shoes. He tried to determine from their placement how his eldest was standing. Was the news good, or bad?

"Dad." The voice was gentle. Too gentle. The news must be bad. Alan kept looking at the floor. "Dad!" Don became more insistent, and the shoes shifted as he sat down next to his father.

Alan took a breath and turned watery eyes to Don. _Go ahead_, they said. _I'm ready, now. Go ahead and rip my heart out._

Don reached out and held Alan's face in both hands, leaning his face close to his Dad's. "It's not him," he said quietly, but firmly. He shook Alan's face, a little. "It's not Charlie."

Alan reached up with one hand and grabbed Don's wrist. He squeezed his eyes shut and let tears fall out of the corners and drip over his son's hands. "Thank God," he returned in a whisper. "Thank the Lord." His eyes popped open, and Don slowly dropped his hands. "Where is he? He's still not answering his cell, or the landline at the apartment."

Now that Don knew his brother was not lying dead twenty feet down the hall, he could think, again. "Did they let you see Colleen? What did she say?"

"I saw her for a moment, but she was barely conscious. I couldn't make out any words." He chewed a fingernail worriedly. "I hope the x-rays didn't hurt the baby."

Now was as good a time as any. "Dad…it's good that they're running the test again, but she may not be pregnant."

Alan looked at him as if he was crazy. "What are you talking about?"

Don explained. "It's what I forgot, last week, what I remembered this morning. The marriage was not genuine. The judge does not exist, and no marriage license was issued to Charles Eppes."

Alan gaped like a koi, finally managing a strangled, "_What?_ Why would he do that?"

Don sighed. "That's what I wanted to ask him, this morning. Will they let us back in to see Colleen?"

Alan started to stand. "I'd like to see anyone stop us."

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Colleen was pale and still on the hospital bed, her eyes closed, and at first Don thought she was unconscious again. The sight of her injured tugged at him in a personal way, and he angrily fought an inner battle with himself. Now was not the time to worry about anyone but Charlie.

"Colleen," he said softly, leaning over to speak directly into her ear. "Colleen, we need you to wake up, now. Tell us where Charlie is."

Alan stood on the other side of the bed. He could see Colleen's eyes moving behind the lids, but they didn't attempt to open. He looked at Don sadly. "I don't think she can help us."

Don spoke a little louder, and wrapped a hand around her wrist, above the IV lines in the back of her hand. Later, he would never know why he had phrased it the way he did. "Colleen. Wake up. That's an order."

Her eyes still did not open, but her mouth began to work. "…all omp…", she rasped, and Don bent even closer to hear.

"Tell me again," he insisted.

She swallowed. While she did, her eyes finally opened a slit, and she tried to focus on Don. She knew it was him, she recognized his voice. "C- call Tompkins," she said, more clearly, and Don felt his blood freeze.

He exchanged a look with his father. "Director Tompkins, NSA?", he clarified.

She tried to nod, but groaned and immediately stopped. Her eyes slipped shut, again. "Yessss…..tell….Rav – Raven compromised. Martinez…has…Charlie…"

Don squeezed her wrist in apprehension. "Martinez? Jorge Martinez?"

"Yesss…..", she confirmed. Colleen seemed to drift off again, and Don straightened slowly.

He met his father at the end of the bed. "What was that all about?", his father asked anxiously.

Don looked at him in defeat. "She has a code name. She wants Tompkins. I think she's undercover NSA, and an international terrorist has Charlie."

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Terrified as he was for Charlie, Alan would not let Don take the car and go to the crime scene. He finally agreed to let him go with Megan, and Don called the other agent.

He was waiting for her in front of the hospital, and he quickly slid into the passenger seat, directing her to his apartment. On the way, he filled her in on all that he knew. When they reached the scene, his suspicions were confirmed. The place was crawling with NSA, and Charlie was not lying upstairs nursing a migraine. Charlie was really missing.

Don found the agent in charge and identified himself. He didn't have his badge, but Megan flashed hers. He convinced the agent to contact Tompkins on his cell phone, and tell him who was calling. The agent took them to the perimeter of the scene, to an agency vehicle, and made the call.

Within seconds, Don was handed the phone. "Agent Eppes. I understand you have spoken with Raven?"

Don almost lost it. "What the hell did you think you were doing? Charlie is a civilian consultant, damn it! Not only do you put him on an undercover assignment, you sent him after one of the most dangerous people in the world!"

"Raven is one of our best," Tompkins answered. "This could not be anticipated. We believe the cover was compromised when a medical operative was brought in. His body was discovered late this morning."

"I don't really give a shit," Don growled to the head of the National Security Agency. "I want your ass in L.A. by morning."

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Even in his migraine-weakened, terrified state, Charlie knew he was dead.

He knew he was dead when no-one bothered to blindfold him, or gag him, or restrain him in any way beyond holding him at gunpoint. He kept his eyes closed against oncoming lights quite a bit, but whenever he opened them, he recognized something. He knew exactly where they were going – to a private air field just outside L.A. Martinez must have landed there in a private jet.

He was going to take Charlie somewhere, and make him do what 'Samson' was supposed to do. His organization would have done enough research by now to know that Dr. Charles Eppes held the patent on the data compression and string coding algorithim that Samson favored. He just hoped that they only killed him. He began to sweat with fear as he imagined all kinds of scenarios. He thought it was most likely that they would arrive at the airport, and Don and Alan would be hostages already.

He shut his eyes against rainbow halos, and saw Colleen go down screaming. He had known she was hit, and when she managed to get back on her feet, he was happy, at first. She was a kind woman, a dedicated agent…and Donnie liked her, he could tell. Then he had seen her bounce off the windshield, cracking it, and he had grunted in protest. That had earned him a shove from someone – something everyone in the car regretted all the way to the airport, since more bile had been expelled as he was held down on the floor boards. Cortez, in the back seat with him, swore loudly and let him up. Charlie slumped back in the seat, and waited to die.

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Alan had unwillingly gone to a safe house, in protective custody. The woman in the hospital was not his daughter-in-law, and she was not carrying his grandchild. Her room was soon under NSA guard, and there was little reason for him to stay at the hospital. He was both sorry and glad that Don was insinuating himself into this case. On the one hand, his eldest was not well, himself, and Alan worried. On the other, if anyone could bring Charlie home, it was Don.

Since he didn't have to wait for a commercial flight, Tompkins was in Merrick's office with Don and Megan by 3:00 in the morning. He briefed them on the operation.

To Don's surprise, Merrick beat him to the question he most wanted to ask. "What are you going to do to get Dr. Eppes back? Can he complete this assignment without your agent?"

Merrick sighed. "Unfortunately, no. The NSA server he would have to access has its password changed every day at midnight." He looked at Don. "You say he's been sick. Even if Raven managed to get him yesterday's password and it's lodged somewhere in that brain of his, it changed three hours ago. To change it back would further jeopardize national security."

Don jumped up from his place behind the conference table – a little too quickly, if the swaying was any indication. "I don't give a rat's ass about your operation," he said. "How are you going to find him?"

Tompkins held his gaze. "The location of the operation was to be witnessed by the NSA agents we had watching them, and then relayed to a full-force unit for take-down. Those operatives, the 'handlers', died, tonight. Raven must have given the 'abort' signal, or they never would have stormed that parking lot."

Again it was Merrick who spoke, this time because Don found he couldn't. "What are you saying?"

Director Tompkins looked away from Don then, and stared at his hand, which lay flat on the table. "I'm saying we have no idea where he is," he answered. "And we're dealing with Jorge Martinez. By the time we find out, it will be too late."


	22. Chapter 22

**Disclaimer: I have checked with my legal staff. This job not only shows no profit, it has cost me money. I can't even write off my Dell, dude.**

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**How Did This Happen? Chapter 22**

Even before the NSA had involved him in this ridiculous plan, Charlie knew who Jorge Martinez was, and the destruction for which he was responsible. All of the surveillance photos had been outdated, he saw now. The man who stood before him was at least as old as his father, and not in as good of health, apparently. He leaned heavily on a cane, and an ever-present aide carted around his portable oxygen tank.

He was also undoubtedly still in charge of his organization.

Charlie stood before him, swaying occasionally, flanked on each side by men who existed only to do the bidding of Martinez. They all waited silently.

Martinez tilted his head. "I grow older," he finally said. "In my youth, no government would have come so close. It is not that your NSA is so much better. It is that I grow older." He sighed. "It pains me that I have no sons to take my place. Only daughters. They would be worthless, had not Sophia married Manuel." He shifted his attention from Charlie to the man on his right. "You are well, my son?"

"I am well, Papa," Cortez answered.

Martinez concentrated on his oxygen for a few seconds, holding the canula tightly to his nose. He looked again at Charlie, who still swayed occasionally. "Dr. Eppes, you do not look well. The computer is ready for you now, but I will allow you a few hours of sleep. Your mind must be sharp when you complete your task. Make no mistake. If you do not complete the assignment you agreed to do, we will not just kill them. Your father. Your brother. Your lovely friend Dr. Rajmujan. We will use all that we have learned, and we will torture them. We will also make sure they know why." He waved a hand at Cortez. "Put him in the back of the van and let him sleep. Then speak with Lopez. Make sure all is…how is it said? 'Up and running'."

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Charlie wasn't sure how long he was locked in the back of a van that was parked in the far corner of the hangar. He was fairly certain he didn't sleep, although his head throbbed without mercy, and no matter how tightly he closed his eyes, it was still too light.

He wondered if his father and Don, and Amita, were still alive. He thought about simply refusing to do anything – they would kill him, either way. They would kill his family…if they hadn't already. In the end, tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes and running down his face, he knew that he had to prevent the torture, if he could. A bullet to the brain would be so much better than the photos he had seen, of the hideous things done to others. If it was still in his power, he had to keep them from doing those things to his family.

He choked back a sob, and the back of the van began to open. Hands reached for him and dragged him into the open hangar, again. This time, he was prodded toward a small corner office, where he could see a computer awaiting him.

Charlie knew what he had to do.

He just hoped he could do it.

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The two agents and the two Directors had been sitting silently in Merrick's office for almost half an hour. They were waiting to hear from Interpol, and NSA agents stationed at crucial ports of entry. Colleen had reported during her last check-in call that Martinez planned to enter and leave the country by sea. Their hope now was that he had not changed his mode of transportation, and that somewhere, someone had picked up his activity.

Don was nearly comatose at the table by the time he heard a knock at the door, and then his heart soared. It dropped again when Merrick called, "Enter!", and it turned out to be a technician from data.

She looked around nervously. "Excuse me, Director. I heard you were in the building, and I thought you should know."

He rubbed his face tiredly. "What is it?"

The tech swallowed and looked at Megan, another woman, for support. "Well, there's something coming over our secure server, and we weren't expecting anything to be downloaded. It's very unusual. It's also encrypted, so we don't know what it is."

Don, who had been staring dejectedly at his feet, raised his head and spoke to Tompkins with excitement. "It's Charlie," he said, as if it couldn't possibly be anything else. "He knows the password to our server. If he couldn't download to the NSA, he would try to download here."

Everyone else in the room looked skeptical. "Do you have a print-out?", Merrick finally asked.

"Yes, sir." The technician entered the room tentatively and placed a sheet of paper on the table in front of Director Merrick. The others stood and gathered behind him to peer at the code.

"Encryption teams are looking at it, sir, but they say they've never seen anything like it, before."

"I have agents Dr. Eppes trained in his method of encryption specifically for this project," Tompkins finally said. "I can fly them out here, and we can find out for sure if this could viably be a download from Martinez' computer."

Don voiced his frustration. "It has to be! What else could it be! I'm telling you, I _know_ Charlie. If he is still…as long as he can, he will do what he agreed to do!"

Another technician knocked on the open door, and they all looked up. "Director Merrick, sir. I'm working with the encryption team, on that rogue download?"

"Yes, yes, have you got something?"

"We're fairly certain it's a complex, layered encryption. We called in our best man, from day shift. Agent Davison says he's seen it before – in a job that Dr. Eppes worked on with him."

Don actually grabbed Director Tompkin's arm. "We may not have time to fly someone out here from D.C.!" He glared at the newest tech. "Can't Davison decode it? He's seen it before, and we need someone local!"

Megan touched Don's arm, and he tried to shrug off her hand, sure she was going to tell him to calm down. She pinched an area on his forearm, and he stopped talking and looked at her. "What?"

She smiled. "We have someone local," she reminded him. "She's worked with Charlie on several of his projects, and is familiar with most of his techniques."

Don almost passed out in relief. "Amita," he sighed.

Director Tompkins nodded. "Dr. Rajmujan. I was just notified yesterday that she has received level two clearance. That's not as high as Dr. Eppes, but roughly equal to your level two. You can tell her whatever you would tell one of your level two personnel. Just get her in here."

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She had been surprised to be rousted out of her bed at 5:00 in the morning by Megan, and stunned virtually speechless by the story she heard on the way to FBI headquarters.

When she got off the elevator, looking shell-shocked, she was rushed into the office that housed the server. She just stared at it for a moment, and then looked around the perimeter of the room at the various high-level technicians, the two Directors, and finally, Don.

She ignored everyone but him. "Charlie's been working with the NSA? He's not really married?"

Don sympathized with how she must feel, but he pushed anyway. "Amita, I know this is a lot to ask, after everything that's happened. Hell, I'm still not sure myself exactly _what_ happened. But we really need your help on this. Charlie's life could depend on it, maybe we can find him through this transmission. Please."

She stared at him a little longer, and then turned her attention to the computer console and the technician who sat there. She sat down beside him, suddenly all business. "Show me what you have."


	23. Chapter 23

**Disclaimer: Characters from the wildly popular CBS drama "numb3rs" are respectfully, and without personal profit, borrowed.**

**A/N: Apologies in advance to anyone who knows anything about math, computers, codes and/or encryption. The patented layered data compression is real. The rest is why I had to get you all excited, first – so you wouldn't notice how lame this is. Maybe.**

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**How Did This Happen? Chapter 23**

Charlie had been briefed. He recognized Vincenté Morales. He had joined the Martinez organization last year, after Trujillo — the only man in the Martinez crew who had ever physically seen Samson — was killed during a subway bombing in Paris that had gone wrong. Trujillo had tried to do the encryption work on that himself, convincing Martinez that his time with Samson had taught him all he needed to know. It was not an arrogance he got a chance to repeat. He had made a mistake in the encryption, and the bomb had detonated while he still carried it in his lap. The briefcase had not even been planted, yet.

Enter Morales, and the first crack in a window of opportunity for the NSA. Since he had never met Samson, they could get an operative into the organization. Once Samson and Delilah were apprehended and imprisoned, the crack in the window widened. Morales, however, was not as reckless as Trujillo, and was more experienced at encryption. The expert had to be someone better than he was.

That's where Charlie had come in.

Now, with his cover shot to hell and Morales knowing exactly who he was, and what he was capable of, Charlie knew he had to be careful. Morales sat practically on the same chair with him, watching every move. Even if he had not been trying to out-maneuver an international terrorist, Charlie would not have been comfortable with that. Factor in the residual affects of his recent migraine, and the nagging feeling that there was nothing he could do to save his family anyway, and Charlie was truly not certain that he could pull this off.

Martinez, his medical aide and Cortez stood behind him. "Begin," Martinez wheezed. "Direct the missiles and program their launch."

"It's not that easy," Charlie protested. The contact in Russia did not receive Deli…the NSA operative's…confirmation. He will not have made the server accessible. I'll have to hack into it."

"Begin," Martinez ordered again.

Charlie's hands hovered over the keyboard, then dropped to his lap. He was relatively surprised he could speak at all, let alone with the voice of steel he heard come out of his mouth. "I want to speak to my father and brother. If they are dead already, there is no reason for me to do this. If you have killed them — you can kill me."

Cortez tensed. He knew that Martinez was bluffing, to a certain extent. By the time some of their men had arrived at the hospital, the brother was gone and the NSA was escorting the father out. The Martinez men were outnumbered and outgunned, and they had come back empty-handed. So it was not quite true that they were holding them somewhere now, as Martinez had let Charlie believe. It was certainly true that they _would_ kill them, before this was over, but how was Martinez going to handle the professor's ultimatum?

The terrorist limped toward Charlie, his voice cold and detached. "You are not in charge here. Yet, I anticipated your hesitation." He reached into the pocket of his suit jacket, and withdrew a small jeweler's box. He breathed heavily on Charlie's neck as he leaned over to place it on the table in front of him. "I will arrange for the delivery of more, with each hour that you delay." He raised his cane and rapped Charlie's upper arm. "Open."

Charlie didn't want to. There couldn't be anything good in that box. He swallowed, and didn't move.

"Vincenté," barked Martinez, and Morales reached over Charlie to pick up the box. He held it inches from Charlie's face and opened it, chuckling lowly.

Charlie looked, unwillingly and sickly, at the bloody ear. "Oh, my God," he whispered. He began to gag, and leaned quickly to the side to spit bile on the cement floor. His chest heaved and his head spun, and he considered the ear. Was it Don's, or his father's? He was pretty sure it wasn't Amita's — it wasn't small enough. He wiped the back of a hand shakily across his mouth, swallowed the sour saliva down, and centered himself back over the keyboard. Still shuddering every few seconds, he established an Internet connection and began his data input.

Cortez watched, silent and impressed. His father-in-law still had much to teach him. He wondered vaguely what poor homeless derelict in L.A. was staggering around without an ear.

Martinez observed with the others for a few moments before he spoke to his aide. "Come. I must rest." He turned to shuffle from the room, adding instructions for Cortez and Morales. "Watch." Morales turned his head slightly to nod at Martinez, and Charlie began to layer his encryption. He was nervous, and his head pounded. He knew that he had to create four layers of code, one more than he had ever attempted before. The first, which could be seen by everyone in the room, was what they expected: Hacking attempts of the Russian missile site, a false connection to a dummy site Charlie had waiting, and programming coordinates and timing for a launch. The original plan had housed the dummy site on a NSA server, which was also the download destination -- but he didn't know that day's password. Thankfully, Colleen had been big on having a "Plan B" — there was also a connection to a FBI database server. His programming code would contain a layered command to download all hard disk information to that server. While he was lying in the van, he had decided to throw in a third layer. Maybe someone would catch it. Only seven keystrokes, and a repeat command: "Lncstr7". Finally, the fourth layer of code spoke to the computer's internal hard drive, only. Upon reboot, the drive would destroy itself and all the data it contained. Recovery would be virtually impossible.

Charlie's fingers flew over the keyboard. Morales was good, and he didn't want him to catch half of what he was doing. While it appeared he was still making hacking attempts, he was really layering code. Plus, Charlie wanted to finish this quickly, before any other small boxes of body parts came his way.

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Agent Davison and Amita ran the encrypted, layered file through a filter Charlie had installed on one of the most powerful desktops available in the FBI data resources office. Amita sat in front of the keyboard, and Davison leaned over her shoulder. Directors Merrick and Tompkins, Megan, Don and assorted other FBI personnel watched tensely.

Davison leaned a little closer to the screen and whistled lowly. "I'll be damned."

Tompkins approached the computer. "What is it?"

The agent straightened and looked toward a printer. He shook his head. "I don't know how he did that. We should have detected it. He's had our server on some kind of standby for who knows how long." The printer leaped into action and Davison approached it. "This is definitely a layered encryption. This first set of codes here appear to be instructions to aim and detonate nuclear missiles — you know, the ones that aren't there anymore, since the disarmament agreements?" He added the last part with a certain sarcasm while he waited to grab a sheet out of the printer. When he had it, he headed back for Tompkins. "This is not just code, it's encrypted code in Russian."

Megan glanced at Don. "Charlie can do that?"

He shrugged. "Damned if I know."

Director Tompkins surveyed the print-out and filled in the blanks. "Charlie speaks and writes fluent Russian. That's one of the things that made him so invaluable to this operation." Tompkins moved to look at the screen in front of Amita. He frowned. "Something is not right, here."

"I know," she agreed, unhappily. "That first layer is very straightforward, but I'm having trouble with his second and third levels of encryption. The filter isn't working properly."

Davison was back behind her, next to Tompkins. He shook his head, again. "He was in here not more than a month ago, updating the program. We haven't used it in months, and didn't anticipate using it, but he insisted it needed an update. Maybe that's when he tapped into the server."

"You weren't watching him?", demanded Merrick.

Agent Davison looked at him, a little defensively. "He's one of _our_ consultants, sir! He has top-level security clearance. I was hardly expecting him to do something like this!"

Merrick stiffened. "I think you and I need to review your job description, Agent."

Don interrupted, frustrated. "Can we deal with supervisory issues some other time? Are you sure this is coming from Charlie?"

Davison shrugged. "It's his encryption algorithim. He holds the patent. It's very advanced. I can't imagine that it would be someone else…although, if someone else was trying to use it, that would explain why it's…not exactly the way it should be."

Don knew his mouth was gaping. "Patent?", he finally squeaked. "You can patent algorithims?"

Amita glanced back at him. "Of course. You didn't know that? Charlie has several." She looked back at the screen, leaving Don embarassed and silent in the corner.

Agent Davison was scribbling something on a slip of paper. He showed it to Amita excitedly. "Look. What happens when you take out all the codes that don't make sense, and run every layer through the filter separately?"

Amita tapped at the keyboard, eliminating the confusing code. As soon as she was finished, before she could attempt a separated run, the encryption activated itself. "I don't believe this," she said, awestruck. She turned to look at Don. "Didn't I hear someone say he's had a migraine the last couple of days? Is that true?"

"I don't know," Don admitted, disappointed to realize there was something else he couldn't count on.

"There was something wrong," put in Tompkins. "Raven called in a medical operative for a house call."

Amita looked back at the screen. "I've seen Charlie with a migraine – he can barely remember his name. This looks like he's designed another layer of encryption. This is a four-level document." She looked up at Davison and pointed to the screen. "See? Layer four makes complete sense, now. It's a self-destruct algorithim, with an internal target." She looked the other way, at Director Tompkins. "Whenever the computer that he is working on is rebooted, it will destroy its own hard drive, and all the data stored there."

The Director smiled, slightly. "Son of a bitch," he breathed. Then he pointed at the screen. "So this is the third layer? How does that make sense? Six letters and one number, repeated over and over."

Amita looked back at the screen and frowned. She shook her head. "I don't know." Defeat crept into her voice.

Don crowded behind Agent Davison. "Where? What?"

"There." Davison pointed. "See? 'L – n – c – s –t – r – 7.' It could be an anagram. Every letter stands for something. We can run it through a few other filters we have."

Megan was standing on her tiptoes, trying to see the screen. "You shouldn't have to do that," she pointed out. "If Charlie put it in this encryption, there must be a simple way to figure it out."

Amita started thinking out loud. "Lunster. Linc Street, #7?"

Davison looked up and caught the attention of one of his techs. "Pull up a schematic. Let's see if there's a Linc Street around L.A."

"I think it's all one word," Don protested. "The 's' is not capitalized…" His eyes widened and he grabbed Director Tompkins by the elbow. "Martinez changed his planned mode of entry, to throw us off!" He was almost jumping up and down. "It's 'Lancaster'! A private air strip, long enough for jets. Lancaster Air Strip, hangar number 7!"


	24. Chapter 24

**Disclaimer: Can I help it if people like to visit?**

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**How Did This Happen? Chapter 24**

Morales forced Charlie's hands away from the keyboard and half-stood, leaning into the monitor. "What this is?", he seethed. "JORGE!"

Cortez quickly moved up and yanked Charlie off the chair by his curly hair, causing him to yelp. "What has he done?"

Morales pecked frantically at the keyboard. "It is downloading. He is sending our data somewhere!"

Cortez swore and pushed Charlie roughly. He hit the side of the desk and lost his balance, twisting into a heap on the floor. Morales claimed the chair he had unwillingly vacated. "I cannot stop it!"

Cortez pulled his Glock, and slid a round into the chamber. Charlie saw him take aim at him and closed his eyes. "Turn it off," Cortez ordered. Will that not stop it?"

Morales nodded. "Perhaps. It should. Rebooting should end all programs running." He quickly logged off and shut the computer down. He turned to look at Cortez. "I will wait a few moments and turn it on, again."

Charlie hoped there had been time for most of the information to download before it had been discovered. Even if there hadn't, turning the machine on again would destroy everything. He heard a tapping on the floor and looked away from the Glock long enough to see Martinez and his aide in the doorway of the office.

"What has happened?"

Cortez and Morales filled him in. "He has double-crossed us, Papa," growled Cortez. "Let me kill him, now. We will tell the others to begin loading the jet."

Morales turned on the computer, again. Within seconds, he began frantically pounding on the keyboard, and jumped up. "Stop! No!"

Cortez, distracted from Charlie, looked toward the computer. "What is it doing now? Does it continue to download?"

Morales turned and looked at Cortez and Martinez in horror. "It is self-destructing. The hard drive is destroying itself! I was watching! I do not know how..."

"Manuel…" Jorge Martinez uttered only the one word, sadly, and Cortez nodded his head.

"Yes, Papa." He shifted the gun so that it no longer pointed at Charlie, on the floor. Instead, he drilled a round through Morales' forehead at close range. Brains splattered onto Cortez. Morales was blown into the computer monitor, knocking it off the desk and following it to the floor. Charlie was hit on one ankle by the monitor, and Morales' dead arm flopped onto his other leg. He backed up in a crawl, instinctively, and horrified. He looked up to see the Glock trained on him, again.

"Wait," Martinez commanded Cortez. "I do not want him to die quickly." Martinez was incensed, his breathing growing more compromised. "He has ruined everything. Years of planning. It is important that the Americans see what I can do, when I grow angry."

Cortez' hand shook with the effort of not shooting Charlie. "What do you want, Papa?", he finally ground out.

Martinez began to back out of the office. "I will tell the others to begin loading. We leave soon. Bring him to the center of the hangar, tie him to the rafters. We will make him beg to be shot."

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Several Los Angeles-based NSA agents met Director Tompkins at the FBI SWAT vans. "This is cooperative effort now," he informed them. "Dr. Eppes is not only a civilian in imminent danger, he managed without back-up to complete a dangerous and vital assignment. Rice, Jamison – coordinate with Agent Sandhill." Two NSA agents and one FBI agent broke off from the clump, and Tompkins turned to see Agents Eppes and Reeves -- in full field vests, with weapons -- approaching the vans.

He intercepted them. "Absolutely not," he ordered. "Eppes, even if you weren't shot last week and injured, you would never be allowed on this case. You're both too personally invested."

Don tried to push past him. "I will be part of this extraction," he insisted.

Bob Tompkins was concerned and distressed about Charlie. Dr. Eppes was a valuable NSA asset, and a personable young man. On the contrary, he had endured just about enough from this brother. He felt sorry for his FBI counterpart, Richard Merrick, who had to try to control Eppes on a regular basis. "I will have you placed in protective custody, if you continue to challenge me, Agent."

Agent Reeves stepped slightly between them and spoke firmly. "I agree with you, Director. Agent Eppes is not physically able to be part of this operation." Don started to choke out a stunned protest, and she raised her voice and spoke over him. "I respectfully ask you to reconsider my own participation. It's true that I have worked closely with Dr. Eppes – but most of the agents out here have." She held his gaze. "Please."

Merrick joined the group before Tompkins could respond. "What's going on here? Eppes, Reeves, what are you two doing in vests?"

Don knew he had been pushing his luck all day, but he frankly didn't care if he had to spend the next six months on unpaid, administrative leave. "Director Merrick, sir, I have to go into the field on this one."

Tompkins opened his mouth, but before anything came out of it, Merrick drew him aside a few feet. Don and Megan watched hands fly, while the men talked, and exchanged a look. "You threw me to the wolves," Don started.

Megan looked at him. "The Eppes family has become like my own," she said. "I put myself in a position where I would not have to tell Alan that he lost both sons, today – and I won't apologize for that."

Don accepted her words in silence, hanging his head a little but jerking it back up when the agency Directors returned. Merrick regarded two of his best field operatives for a moment. "This is non negotiable," he finally said. "Leave your gear on." He looked at Don. "Eppes, you will not endanger this operation or your fellow agents. You will be in the command vehicle with Director Tompkins and myself…" He took a step closer, not breaking eye contact. "You. Will. Keep. Your. Mouth. Shut." He waited to second to see if Don could do that, then turned his head to look at Megan. "Join the others at the vans. Don't make me regret this."

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When Charlie saw one of Martinez' men approaching with both a toothless grin and a whip, he had a surreal moment in which he wondered if he had stumbled into some kind of weird porn film. What kind of terrorist in the 21st century traveled with whips?

The first lash into his back drove all those thoughts out of his mind. The material of his t-shirt was ripped away and the leather strap of the whip cut into his flesh, driving a gasp of pain out of his mouth. He arched away from the source of the pain, but secured to the rafters as he was, arms stretched over his head, he didn't get very far. The second hit brought tears to his eyes and a louder noise from his mouth. Martinez, his aide, and Cortez, stood on the sidelines and watched, impassively. By the fifth strike of the whip, another underling brought Martinez a chair, so he could sit, and truly enjoy the show.

It became more difficult for Charlie to raise his head in-between lashes. He panted and tried to rise above the pain. Still, by the ninth, a full-fledged scream tore from his throat, and he sagged in the middle of the hangar.

The man who had brought Martinez the chair returned and spoke into his ear. Martinez raised a hand. "Enough," he commanded. They are about to open the door, and taxi the aircraft out for fuel. We must move him out of sight. Besides. I grow bored." He looked up at his son-in-law. "Manuel. Show me something you learned during the war."


	25. Chapter 25

**Disclaimer: Characters from the wildly popular CBS drama "numb3rs" are respectfully, and without personal profit, borrowed.**

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**How Did This Happen? Chapter 25**

When Cortez cut Charlie down, he left the rope dangling from the rafter. He sliced through the rough circles of hemp on Charlie's wrists, carelessly and viciously. On the second one, he continued to drag the blade of the knife downward, opening a 6-inch-long gash along the forearm. Charlie hit the floor in a heap. Cortez commanded him to rise, and he honestly tried, but his legs would not hold him. Cortez began to kick him in the ribs, and Charlie rolled a few times, finally making it to his hands and knees. Blood dripped down his arm, and he crawled through the puddles until Cortez told him to stop. Charlie could see a tire of the van in front of him.

Manuel slammed his foot into Charlie's back, making contact with the bleeding cuts from the whip, and Charlie groaned and flipped so that he sat on the floor, facing Cortez and the van. Bringing his wounded arm up to cradle it against his stomach, he breathed rapidly and saw Martinez and the ever-present, ever-silent medical aide, repositioned in the back of the open-doored van. They stared at him, ready for Act II.

Cortez looked at him as if he was something he had just scraped off his shoe, and shouted, "AUZINO!" His voice was loud, to be heard over the noise of those who prepared the aircraft, and soon one of the men broke away and jogged over to Cortez. Without taking his eye away from Charlie, he snarled his order. "Pliers."

Auzino disappeared, and Charlie swallowed convulsively. He had not been 100 percent when the battering had started. Now, between the whip lashes, the knife wound and the kicking, he was afraid he would lose consciousness from the pain. Something warned him he did not want to do that. He could feel himself sweating, and he was losing his connection with reality. It seemed as if before Auzino left, he was back again, handing Cortez the pliers…and then Cortez was on the cement in front of him, pulling his injured arm away from his chest. Charlie tried to resist, but Cortez was much bigger, and stronger, and he held the blood-slick arm firmly. He looked directly into Charlie's eyes then, his own black ones cold, and oddly mesmerizing.

Charlie wondered if Cortez was somehow hypnotizing him, as Manuel secured the pliers around his little finger. When he cracked it as if it were a walnut, Charlie barely reacted. Cortez repositioned and secured his grip on the pliers, and prepared to twist the finger off Charlie's hand.

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It was an unfortunate bit of timing.

As the large hangar door swung open, Sanchez, the pilot, was crossing to climb into the aircraft and taxi to the fuel station. He glanced outside, intending to check the weather, and saw instead at least two dozen black-clad federal agents, spilling out of two FBI SWAT vans. Immediately he yelled and pulled out his pistol. The yell alerted the others within the hangar – but it also alerted the agents. Sanchez did not so much as get a shot off before he was hit with three himself. He dropped, mute and dead, to the ground.

Cortez raised his eyes from Charlie long enough to assess the threat. The pliers dropped, bouncing off Charlie's leg, soon to be replaced by the Glock. With one glance back at Martinez in the back of the open van, Cortez took off in a running crouch to join the firefight.

Martinez had not arrived in his position without a certain predeliction toward survival, and assorted talents. He could pilot the aircraft himself, if he had to. The old man receded, and the terrorist emerged, as he judged the open distance between the van and the aircraft. Leaving the cane behind and trusting his aide to hang onto the oxygen tubing as if it was a leash connecting them, Martinez slid out of the van and buried his fingers in the gash on Charlie's arm, twisting, and pulling the mathematician to a stand. Charlie's protests of discomfort could not be heard over the gunfire – not that they would have mattered.

When he was standing, Martinez hooked an arm around Charlie's neck. With surprising strength, he positioned Charlie with his back to his own chest, directly in front of him. "We go to the aircraft," he hissed in Charlie's ear. Sticking as close to the back wall as possible, with the medical aide slightly behind him, Martinez began to drag Charlie across the space to the jet.

Slightly behind the vans on the tarmac, the command vehicle had skidded to a sideways stop, passenger side facing the hangar. The Directors and Don all slid out the driver's side. Merrick peered cautiously through the windows and watched agents position themselves in clumps behind riot shields. There was little other cover to be had, on the airfield. A bullet whizzed over the command vehicle, and he dropped quickly, muttering. "Damn." He held onto Don's arm, afraid the agent was going to make a move to join the assault.

Tompkins, earpiece in place, scooted closer to them. He handed Don a pair of binoculars, and Merrick let go of his arm. "I have confirmation snipers were in place before the door opened," he panted. Martinez is against the back wall, approaching the aircraft. Eppes – he's using your brother as a shield."

Don raised the binoculars cautiously over the front bumper and looked for a long moment before all-but collapsing to the ground. "Son of a bitch," he complained, not even noticing when Merrick took the binoculars to get his own look. "That old man is Martinez? Who's the guy behind him?"

"His medical aide," answered Tompkins. "He carries the portable oxygen, sees to other…" His hand went to his ear, adjusting the earpiece, and he spoke into his collar. "Repeat. Position 4, repeat." Tompkins listened intently for a few seconds, and then looked at Director Merrick, who had finished with the binoculars and was back in the huddle. "I have a sniper with a clear shot at the oxygen tank."

Don stared at him, and began shaking his head. "No. No. It will explode."

Tompkins looked at him, then back toward the hangar. "Does anyone have a clear shot at the hostage?", he asked his collar. "Drop shot, only."

Don half-stood, growling, and Merrick pulled him back down. He jerked his arm away from his boss, and glared at them both. "What the hell are you talking about? You're going to shoot Charlie?"

Tompkins refused to meet his eyes, looking instead at Merrick. "A drop shot. If we can drop Charlie a millisecond before we hit the tank, Martinez and his aide will take the blunt of the oxygen explosion. There's a possibility Charlie won't be killed." He looked at Don, then, with serious, sad eyes. He spoke with regret. "We cannot allow Martinez to get to that jet."

Don stared at him in silent horror, then appealed to Director Merrick. "My God, Richard, they're going to sacrifice Charlie. You have to stop this! This is insane!"

Merrick couldn't hold his gaze for long. "There must be some other way," he started, looking at Tompkins.

The NSA Director didn't answer, speaking again into his collar, instead. "Positions 4 and 1, coordinate. One, you are to drop Dr. Eppes. Do not, I repeat, do not shoot to kill. Four, take out the canister, one second later.

On my mark, Position 1."

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Don did not decide to deck Director Merrick and run onto the airfield, screaming Charlie's name, but somehow that is what happened. He made no decisions to usurp authority. He only decided to save his brother. His injured ribs protested and were ignored, as Don charged toward the hangar, yelling at the top of his lungs.

In the hangar, Charlie could not hear Don's voice over the gunfire, and the blood rushing in his ears – but movement on the tarmac caught his eye. As he tried to focus, tried to understand what was happening out there, he recognized Don's running style. He had spent most of his childhood watching Don run in various baseball games, and he was sure it was him. Besides, he reasoned, who else would stand up in the middle of a firefight and hurtle toward him?

If Don wanted to talk to him this badly, the least Charlie could do was meet him halfway. His right arm, with its knife wound and crushed finger, had been cradled protectively against his chest while his left hand clawed ineffectively at Martinez' grip on his neck. Now, he increased the clawing activity, distracting Martinez, and brought his right elbow up hard and fast, backwards, until he felt it connect with flesh, tooth, and bone.

Martinez gurgled through a broken nose and his grip loosened. Together with Charlie's frantic clawing, enough slack was created for him to slip to the cement. He took off in an odd, running crab-crawl back toward the van, waiting to be hit in the back with a bullet, trying to zig and zag and keep close to the ground. His goal was the van. If he could get in the open back of the van, he could use it for cover, and slip out the driver's door on the other side.

He had just launched himself for it, a bullet humming through his hair, when the world exploded.


	26. Chapter 26

**Disclaimer: Characters from the wildly popular CBS drama "numb3rs" are respectfully, and without personal profit, borrowed.**

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**How Did This Happen? Chapter 26**

When Don saw the fireball burst out of the hangar, cutting down several of Martinez' men and driving others from their cover to surrender on the open tarmac, he fell to his knees in abject horror. The fireball was followed by a series of deafening explosions that littered the sky with debris, both small and large. At one point, Charlie's name still spilling out of his mouth in a hoarse whisper, Don identified most of an old cargo van dropping from the sky, sending agents and terrorists alike scattering. The sound of sirens cut through the haze that had overtaken him, and he realized that the air strip's fire units were on the way. He sat back on his heels, and watched the building burn. Charlie was in there. Charlie was standing beside that explosion, and there was no way he could have survived it. His little brother was dead, and Don's soul turned to ash.

He felt fingers on his face, and he realized Megan had joined him on the ground. Her lips were moving. He didn't know how long she had been talking to him, and he couldn't really understand what she was saying. Rivulets of tears stained her own cheeks, and he wondered briefly if she had been hurt. Then her arms were around him, and they were rocking together, kneeling on the runway, and he could finally hear himself screaming.

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Charlie hit the floor of the cargo van hard, on his stomach, and a jolt immediately shoved him forward further. His head hit the back of the driver's seat, and he automatically latched his arms around it. He held on for dear life as another jolt threatened to suck him back out the open doors. The noise was ear-splitting agony. It was all Charlie could do to keep from letting go of the seat to clutch at his ears. He realized that he had closed his eyes, when they opened, and he thought he saw blue sky through the windshield. That was when he understood that he was trapped in the worst nightmare of his life, and he squeezed them shut again, unwilling to believe he was in a flying cargo van. A sudden, harsh, crashing impact ripped him away from his death-grip on the seat, and he was squirted backwards out of the cargo van. He tumbled on asphalt, a human bowling ball, for several feet until he collided with someone, knocking them to the pavement with him.

He covered his head with his hands. Other things that should not fly were crashing down all around him. He had no idea where he was, or what was happening. He knew only the adrenaline rush of pure terror, and the need to escape whatever it was. Charlie clambered to his feet and stumbled away from…everything.

His eyes searched the area for a place with no activity, an expanse free of the disintegrating sky. There were people all over. Some of them might have been yelling at him. Charlie wasn't sure. He just wanted out. He clutched his wounded arm to his stomach and was trying to speed up into a run when someone passed in front of him, and his field of vision cleared. He stopped so suddenly he almost fell to the asphalt, again, not completely sure what he saw. He was not quite five feet away from his brother's back, and Donnie was screaming. Someone was holding onto him, but Charlie couldn't be bothered to figure out who. All he knew was that somehow, he had dragged Don into his nightmare, and Don was hurt. He was on the ground, screaming in pain, and Charlie had to help him.

He tripped in his urgency to get his feet moving again, and Charlie had to work hard at not crashing into Don's back. As it was, he fell to his knees, adding insult to the road rash already covering his legs, and put a hand out to touch Don's arm lightly. He was afraid to grip very hard, he wasn't sure how badly Don was hurt. "I'm sorry," he managed to rasp. Once he started talking, the words poured out in a rush. "Donnie, let me help. Tell me what it is. Please, Donnie, I'm sorry. I'm sorry…"

Don stiffened beside him, and the screaming abruptly stopped. His older brother drew back from Megan, who turned out to be the other agent, and his head slowly swiveled to look at Charlie. Charlie rapidly moved his eyes back-and-forth between the two FBI agents, and he began abstractly patting Don's arm. "You're all right," he tried to soothe, "you're all right, Don. You're okay." His voice trembled, and he saw a look of disbelief cross Don's face, then a glimmer of something else — hope? — in his eyes. Charlie searched his brother's body with his own eyes, looking for obvious signs of injury.

He grunted in surprise and pain when he was suddenly, forcefully, crushed to Don's chest. "Oh, my God," Don was saying, over and over. "Charlie. Sweet Lord…"

Charlie struggled weakly against him, his back on fire, but Don only tightened his hold. "Hurts," he gasped, pushing with his good hand against Don's protective vest.

Don let go then, so abruptly and completely that Charlie started to crumple. Both agents reached out to steady him. Don pulled back his hand when he saw the blood coating Charlie's arm. Megan was looking, horrified, at Charlie's back. Both of them looked up and away from Charlie and yelled at the same time: "MEDIC!"

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Alan found himself unable to think.

One second he was polishing the woodwork in the safe house, trying to keep busy, and the next second NSA agents were hustling him into the back seat of their vehicle.

"Your son is being taken to Huntington," he was finally informed. Alan had gripped the door handle as the car skidded around yet another corner, and found himself wondering which son.

It was the last coherent thought he remembered having, as he stood in the now-familiar trauma center and watched the ambulance entry. The NSA agents stood at a respectful distance.

Alan waited for the world to tilt on its axis. Again.

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In the back of the ambulance, Don and Charlie sat side-by-side on the gurney. EMTs had quickly determined that Charlie's back was in no condition for him to lie down on it, so they allowed the unusual transport.

At the scene, an IV had been started and EKG leads applied to Charlie's chest. His knife-sliced arm was wrapped with a pressure bandage, a triangular sling was placed over his neck, and his hand and broken finger were placed gently inside. During the attentions of the paramedics he was mostly silent, and seldom looked at anyone but Don. When the female EMT approached him with oxygen tubing, though, his eyes widened and he whimpered and tried to scoot backwards, even though his injured back bumped into something or someone behind him. He shook his head, and mumbled, and looked at Don in terror.

Don reached out and stayed the paramedic's hand. "He's breathing," he pointed out. "You're just going to make it worse. Get the oxygen the hell out of here."

The EMT looked as if she would protest, but glanced again at Charlie, and saw his eyes glazing over in shock, so she gave in for the time being. Finally, they were both loaded into the ambulance. It was obvious the younger one was not going anywhere without the other one — and that they both wanted it that way.

During transport, paramedics monitored Charlie's vitals and continued to assess his injuries. They palpated his ankle, where the computer monitor had left a large bruise, when Morales knocked if off the desk. They looked at his road rash. Every time someone touched him, he moved a little closer to Don.

Don could feel Charlie trembling next to him. He wished he could put his arm around Charlie's shoulders, but he had seen the results of the whip, and he didn't want to cause his brother any additional pain. Instead, he rested a hand lightly on the leg closest to him. He smiled reassuringly whenever Charlie looked at him with those huge, stunned eyes. "We'll be there soon," he whispered once.

Charlie pushed a little closer, and sighed.


	27. Chapter 27

**Disclaimer: Characters from the wildly popular CBS drama "numb3rs" are respectfully, and without personal profit, borrowed.**

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**How Did This Happen? Chapter 27**

Don jogged beside Charlie's gurney as long as he could, but he was soon effectively and firmly cut off by a male RN who looked as if he may have worked his way through school as a bouncer. Don still watched until the exam room door swung shut and blocked his view. Running a shaking hand through his close-cropped hair, he turned and headed for the waiting area.

Alan saw him coming, and hurried down the hall to meet him, trailed by the two NSA agents. The closer he got to his son, the more the look on his face shot cold fear to Alan's heart.

Don was still wearing his vest, and as they met in the corridor, Alan plucked at it nervously. "What is this? Were you out in the field? You're still recovering, Donnie, you can't…" He looked at one of the NSA agents. "You! Young man, go find a doctor, or a nurse, or someone! My son needs medical attention!"

The agents glanced at each other, and one started to move, but Don held up his hand to stop him, then dropped it to Alan's arm. "I'm all right, Dad, I'm fine. I was in the command vehicle, I wasn't part of the assault."

Alan reached up his free hand to touch Don's tear-stained face. "You look horrible. Let someone check you out."

Don tried to grin. "Way to hurt a guy's feelings, Dad. Let's go back to the chairs, and sit down, okay? I just need to sit down, that's all."

Alan made a disapproving cluck in the back of his throat, but walked beside Don to a remote corner of the waiting area. Don seemed to be walking all right, but the look in his eyes, the dried tears on his face… By the time they sat down, Alan had convinced himself he knew what was wrong.

Don's hands were resting lightly on his knees, and Alan took one between both of his. His son looked at him and Alan held his eyes for a long moment before he finally spoke. "Tell me," he said softly. "Tell me what you have to say."

Realization dawned in Don's eyes, and he squeezed one of his father's hands, and put his other one on top, squeezing from that direction, as well. "No. God, no, Dad. He's not dead. We got him. Charlie's alive!"

A light of hope flickered in Alan's eyes, but he quickly squelched it. "Is he…will he make it?" His voice broke. "You look so…haunted."

Don extricated his hands from the tangle of hands on Alan's lap and reached out to hold each side of his father's face. "It's not that, Dad, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. There was a moment, at the scene. I thought that he was gone." He dropped his hands, and shuddered. "God. It was horrible."

Alan closed his eyes and willed himself to start breathing normally, again. Charlie was alive. Don was alive. For now, that was enough.

When he opened his eyes again, two more NSA agents had joined his watchdogs – one of them Colleen, in a wheelchair. She saw his eyes widen, and reddened a little in embarrassment. "I'm sorry," she said gently. "I don't want to intrude. I heard Charlie was here. I understand if you'd like me to leave."

Alan stiffened a little in his chair, and glanced at Don, who appeared to be speechless. Alan searched frantically for his inner gentleman. "Col…Colleen," he managed to waver. He cleared his throat. "Forgive me for asking, but is that your real name?"

She nodded silently. After a few seconds, Alan went on. "Well…how are you? Should you be out of bed?"

"I'm fine," she answered, sounding for all the world like one of his sons, whenever he asked them the same question. "The internal bleeding stopped on its own, without surgery." She shot a look at Don, who was studying the hospital's linoleum, then looked back at Alan. "I know it doesn't really help, but I want you to know I'm…sorry…things worked out the way they did. I did my best to keep your son safe. I'm sorry I failed."

It was Alan's turn to nod silently. He looked at Don, and his eyes softened. "I have a son in law enforcement," he said, still looking at Don. "I know how seriously he takes his job. I'm sure you did all you could."

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Alan stared at the trauma physician in near-shock. "You're kidding."

Colleen's own doctor had tracked her down and sent her packing back to bed nearly half an hour before, and now the two Eppes stood with Charlie's doctor, who smiled broadly. "No, sir, I'm happy to say I'm not. Considering what I've been told your son has been through, he's in remarkable shape. There may be some nerve damage to his arm, or finger – possibly into his hand, but we won't know that for a while. The cuts on his back are severe, and will cause discomfort for quite some time. He's slightly malnourished, more than one day should account for. Has be been eating?"

Alan was still stunned, so Don filled in the blanks. "Not for a few days. He had a really bad migraine… He was sick," he finished lamely.

The doctor nodded. "That makes some sense, then. We'll want to keep him the rest of the day, and overnight for observation. He should speak with someone on our psychiatric staff, before he leaves tomorrow. He's clearly traumatized. His emotional state is probably worse than his physical condition, right now."

Alan found his voice. "Where is he? Can we see him?"

The doctor smiled again. "Of course. We'll be moving him upstairs as soon as we have a room ready, but right now he's in Exam 3." He started to lead the way down the hall, and looked again at Alan. "He's going to look a little…non-hospital, to you. Because of the wounds on his back, we have him propped sort of half on his side, half on his stomach. Also, there is an IV – we're administering some antibiotics, and he has had some Morphine, so he might be a bit loopy. However, no oxygen is in use. His breathing only became compromised whenever someone got near him with the oxygen." He shook his head. "It was weird."

"You have no idea," Don answered.

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They entered quietly, taking in Charlie's small form under the blanket, his dark hair and pale face against the pillow. Several more pillows lined his body vertically. His stitched, dressed arm and bandaged hand were propped on one, the other hand snaked underneath. His eyes were closed, and Alan leaned over and brushed his hair back on his forehead.

The eyes popped open, fear-filled, and he tensed. He relaxed as he recognized his father's voice and touch, and even smiled a little. "Howja do dat, Dad?", he slurred.

Alan smiled. "What, son?"

Charlie yawned. "Two of you." His eyes began to drift shut, again.

Alan continued to sooth his forehead. "Your brother is here too, Charlie."

The corners of Charlie's mouth lifted, but he kept his eyes closed. "Know. Both of him."

Alan chuckled. "Just rest, son, and there will only be one each of us when you wake up."

For a moment it seemed as if he would, but then Charlie's eyes jerked open with a gasp, and he moved a little on the bed. He looked at his father, and Don standing behind him, and without warning began to cry. "I'm sorry," he sobbed, "I'm s-s-sorry. I w-w-wanted to tell, I, I, I…"

"Charlie, hush, now," Alan commanded in his best father voice. "I don't know what you've been through, son, but I know the three things that matter." He leaned over further and kissed Charlie on the forehead. He whispered into Charlie's ear. "You're alive. You're my son. And I love you."


	28. Chapter 28

**Disclaimer: Characters from the wildly popular CBS drama "numb3rs" are respectfully, and without personal profit, borrowed.**

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**A/N: Sorry for the late update, today. Bad day - possible Glaucoma. Not something a prolific writer such as myself particularly wants to hear. But enough about that. (You'll forgive my typos now, right?) Here ya go, y'all...**

**How Did This Happen? Chapter 28**

Charlie slept through the transfer, and for several hours afterwards. He slept heavily, the dreamless sleep of the sedated, unmoving. Don found it a little unnerving.

Charlie was famously restless in his sleep. Once, he had managed to displace the mattress pad while still keeping the bottom sheet in place – it was like some sort of magician's tablecloth trick. Their mother had gone into his room to wake him up for breakfast and found every sheet and blanket from the bed, including that mattress pad, heaped on the floor. Charlie was curled up in a tight ball in the middle of the bed, freezing. He had only been six years old, at the time. Don, at 11, had thought it was the first cool thing his little brother had ever done. If Charlie could start channeling Houdini, he could get some mileage out of that, himself. That would be a much more welcome manifestation to endure than this whole numbers thing.

Now, sitting on the same side of the bed as Alan, so they could see Charlie's face, Don wished his brother would start dismembering the bed in his sleep, like he was supposed to.

At one point, Alan sighed and looked at Don. "I don't suppose you can tell me anything else." It was a statement, rather than a question, but Don answered anyway.

"Probably…not. You've no doubt picked up more than you should have."

His father bristled. "I should be kept in the dark when my _civilian_ son becomes involved in some kind of terrorist operation? I should watch the blood seep through the bandages on his back, and not notice? I should hear my other son admit that he thought his brother was dead, and just go for groceries?"

Don winced. "That's…that's not what I mean, Dad. Sometimes, the more a person knows, the more danger he opens himself to, and…" Don allowed his voice to break a little, and it wasn't entirely an act. "…and Charlie and I need you."

Alan looked away from him and touched Charlie's still face lightly. "You boys," he murmured, so that Don could barely hear him. "You don't seem to understand how much I need you, too."

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When a nurse came in a few hours later to turn Charlie onto his other side, she warned the watching Eppes. "This is probably going to bring him up out of the morphine, and he'll be uncomfortable this next few hours. We can't put him as far that other side – we need to leave his arm and hand relatively free, so they can still be elevated."

Alan insisted on doing what he could to help. He pointed out that he would have to help Charlie at home, and he needed to learn how to do that. The nurse agreed, and Don stood back a few feet from the bed and watched. At first, his intentions were good. He would no doubt need to help Charlie, as well.

Despite the nurse's warnings, he was not prepared for the pitiful whimpers and gasps of pain that came out of Charlie. He couldn't rise above the morphine enough to control his reactions, and they were not even half finished yet when he began to cry. Don was driven from the room at an unexpectedly plaintive, "Mommy…".

Bursting into the hallway, he almost broadsided Director Merrick, thereby decking him for the second time that day. Don stood, breathing heavily, trying to think of something to say, trying not to register the Director's black eye.

Merrick looked over his shoulder at the door of Charlie's room and frowned. "Has a problem developed? I was told his condition was good."

Don huffed, and puffed. "Yeah, well, he was fine until they decided to turn him over." He glanced at the still-present NSA guard outside the room. "I'm sorry, sir, I need to walk…"

Director Merrick nodded, and smiled. "Of course. I'll come with you."

When they turned a corner a few feet later, Don snuck a look at Merrick. "Sorry about that eye. You'll be needing my shield." He reached toward the back pocket of his jeans, for his wallet.

Merrick stopped walking and shook his head. "Whatever for, Agent Eppes? Old men like me don't belong at an active crime scene. Several people saw me trip."

Don's arm froze. "Excuse me?"

The Director looked him hard in the eye, and then down the corridor. "Of course, given what your family has been through, I anticipate a few visits with Bureau psychiatric staff in your immediate future." He looked back at Don. "You understand that things discussed at such visits are confidential. All I will ever be told, as your superior officer, is that you have been cleared for field duty."

Don swallowed, and nodded his head. "Yes…sir. I understand what you're saying."

The Director began walking again. "Well. I won't disturb your brother just now. Perhaps I will be welcomed at his home, in a few days – as a visitor."

Don's head was starting to spin to the extent that he wondered if it was possible for a concussion to relapse. "I'm sure that would be fine," he mumbled.

"As one of our consultants, he is encouraged to use Bureau resources, as well," Merrick continued. "I mostly dropped by to remind you of that."

They stopped again. "Thank-you," Don said. "I should get back. Sir? Do you know how long the NSA will be on us?"

Merrick lowered his voice. "Several bodies have been identified. Martinez; his second-in-command, Cortez. The NSA is interrogating the survivors, and monitoring their contacts for any movement in the Martinez organization. The information Charlie downloaded to us resulted in arrests in 13 countries, so far. It would be unwise to declare a group as far-reaching and powerful as the Martinez cell out of commission, at this point. They'll probably be with you all for a few more days, at least."

Don nodded. "I should get back," he repeated. He regarded the Director's face, and saw an innate kindness there he had always missed, before. "Sir, I appreciate your coming by. Again, I regret…the air strip incident. You should be more careful."

A tiny grin played at Merrick's mouth. "Ah. You could have a point, Agent."

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When Don got back, things were not better.

Worse, if Charlie's screaming and holding onto the side of his father's head with his working hand was any indication. Don hurried toward the bed, trying to make out what Charlie was saying. "It was Don's? Where's Don? Is he all right?" He broke off into heart-wrenching sobs, and the nurse bustled past Don, carrying a syringe.

Don stepped up to the bed and watched her inject something into the IV, then tried to soothe his brother, speaking gently.. "Hey,, Buddy, it's okay, now. I'm all right. You're safe. It's all over."

Alan's hand stroked Charlie's forehead, and he murmured along with Don. Focusing on his brother, Charlie tried to move his hand from Alan's head to Don's. "Which one?", he whispered, his eyes growing heavy already from the sedative. "I didn't want them to hurt you. "I'm sorry, I didn't know they would do that..."

Don grabbed his hand with his own. He had no idea what Charlie was talking about, but he had obviously been through all kinds of hell. "It's okay, Charlie. They didn't hurt me. Look at me. Look at me, Chuck. I'm standing here, I'm all right."

Charlie shuddered violently, his eyes drifted shut and he maintained a vise grip on Don's hand. He mumbled into the pillow, fighting the sedative. "Didn't know...tried...sorry..." Finally, the sedative worked and the words stopped. Don and Alan looked at each other, then at the nurse.

"Well," she stated, matter-of-factly. "I guess that could have gone better."

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Four hours later, the same nurse insisted that at the least, Charlie had to be turned again -- and he really should take a few steps. Both Don and Alan protested, and she just stood at the end of the bed, arms crossed over her chest, and raised an eyebrow. "Well, certainly, if you're not hoping for an imminent release, he can lay here like a slug for as long as you feel it's necessary. I was under the impression you wanted to take him home, tomorrow."

Alan clamped his mouth shut in a firm line of anger, while Don let his explode him out of the chair. "Call your supervisor. I want to lodge a formal complaint!"

She stared at him with the steady gaze of a former Air Force combat nurse -- which she was. She reminded herself that civilians were wusses, and took it down a notch. "I apologize. That was, perhaps, a bit harshly worded -- but true, nonetheless. Charlie needs to move, to maintain the strength he has, and prevent complications. He's still woozy from the sedative, so this will be brief -- just a few steps to the bathroom, and back." She appealed to Alan, as much as she could appeal to anyone. "You're welcome to help."

And so Alan, still plagued by the threat of not being able to take Charlie home the next day, gave in. Nurse Ratchet leaned over Charlie and started waking him up. In a series of movements at least as painful for Don and Alan as they were for Charlie, the mathematician was helped out of bed and escorted toward the bathroom.

Don found himself again unable to watch for very long. This time when he left, trailed by an NSA agent, he went to the cafeteria and got Charlie a strawberry milkshake. By the time he got back to the room, he was happy to see that the activity was over, Charlie was back in his original position in the bed, and the nurse was gone.

He leaned over the rail of the bed. "Hey, Buddy," he whispered. "I didn't ask if this was okay – I figured you'll be home tomorrow, anyway, and that nurse kind-of scares me. You want to risk some ice cream?"

Charlie's eyes fluttered open, and regarded Don solemnly. "Strawberry?", he rasped.

Don smiled. "Would I get you anything else?" Alan had pushed a chair up behind him, and Don sat and held the milkshake for Charlie.

He sipped tentatively, letting a long time pass between assaults, but he offered Don his first real smile in days, and smacked his lips in appreciation. " 'Sgood," he croaked. "Thank-you."

Alan smiled, watching his eldest help his youngest, with such patience, and love. _Yes,_ he thought, agreeing with Charlie. _It's good._


	29. Chapter 29

**Disclaimer: Characters from the wildly popular CBS drama "numb3rs" are respectfully, and without personal profit, borrowed.**

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**How Did This Happen? Chapter 29**

Charlie's doctor had only convinced Alan and Don to leave, a few hours after the clandestine milkshake, by pointing out that Charlie had nothing to wear home the next day. "Find the oldest, softest, largest cotton t-shirt you can," he instructed, "and some sweatpants. He needs something for his feet, as well. He came in barefoot."

Don started. He had? He'd never even noticed.

Alan shifted into Jewish Mother. "I should make some soup, too. And gelatin." He looked at Don. "We'll need to stop at the store."

Don was still reluctant. "Maybe I should just sleep here, tonight. I don't want him to wake up alone."

The doctor rolled his eyes. "Mr. Eppes. I'll put a notation in his chart. He'll be getting a shot of Demoral soon, and you can stay until that takes him under. Then, if Charlie so much as looks like he might possibly move, you will be summoned."

He had seemed sincere – if somewhat sarcastic – so Don had finally agreed to go home with Alan. There was no summoning phone call, so neither one of them was prepared for the concerned and furious doctor they found when the elevator disgorged them on Charlie's floor.

Slamming a chart down on the nursing station counter, he glared at them as they stepped off the elevator. Without so much as a 'good morning', he launched into an angry tirade. "He won't be going home this morning. Maybe later this afternoon. Damn sons-a-bitches."

Alan actually took a step back and tried to figure out what they had done wrong, and what had happened to Charlie. Don stepped protectively in front of him. He matched the doctor's anger. "Do not speak to my father that way. What happened? No-one called."

The doctor took a breath and looked at Alan, who seemed pale and confused. So much for _'do no harm'_, he thought, guiltily. "I'm sorry. Forgive me. I was not referring to you. It's those…those…._rejects_ from the Men In Black movies."

The NSA agents who were supposed to guard Charlie's room? Don actually grabbed the collars of the doctor's lab coat. "What did they do? Did somebody get to my brother?"

The doctor, a shorter man than Don, balanced on his tiptoes for a moment while he tried to wrest himself free from the monster he had created. "No," he choked, "no, he's fine. Resting."

"Donnie…", Alan said softly, and Don slowly let go of the doctor.

"I think you'd better tell us what the hell is going on. Now."

The doctor cleared his throat and took a breath. "Look," he finally answered, still obviously upset. "I just got here myself. Nobody paged me either, and believe me…" – he shot a pointed look at the nurses behind the desk – "that communication problem will be addressed. I have had time to visit Charlie, and he is exhausted – but as I said, he's resting, now."

"But _what happened?_", insisted Alan.

"Apparently two of this hospital's patients were temporarily kidnapped at four in the morning. Charlie, and one of Dr. Sutton's patients -- a woman who was admitted a few days ago, after a shooting spree in a parking lot somewhere."

"_What?"_ Don made another move for the doctor's lab coat, and he held his hands up defensively and hurried on.

"Some people from the National Security Agency. They told the lead nurse on duty that it was a debriefing, and they had their own medical personnel with them in case either patient experienced problems. They stayed here in the hospital, used one of our conference rooms." The doctor sneered. "Some asshole administrator must have known they were coming." He looked at the nurses again. "And I don't care who knows I said that!"

Don was still concerned about Charlie – and now Colleen – and angry again at the NSA, but he found time to decide he kind-of liked this fiery little guy. "So you're sure he's all right? How long did it last?"

The doctor crossed him arms over his chest. "Over three hours. They were still in there when I got here, and put a stop to it." He started mumbling. "Damn idiots in their fancy three-piece suits, thinking they know better than an attending physician…"

Alan interrupted him. "Is he upset? Did you have to sedate him? Did he have any breakfast? Will they be back? Should I call an attorney? Do you think I can get a restraining order against the NSA?"

The list of questions effectively refocused the doctor. "He wasn't off-the-charts upset," he admitted almost begrudgingly. "He refused any breakfast, but he didn't need any sedation. He settled in quietly, once we got him back to bed. The other patient, the woman – she was actually a big help. She somehow evaded the nursing staff who were assigned to get her resettled…" – his eyes shot daggers over the counter again – "…and showed up in his room. I would have made her leave, but he seemed calmer when she was there. She sat there until he fell asleep. I had one of our psychiatry staff scheduled to meet with him this morning, but now I'm going to have to postpone that. I feel that visit is necessary before any release, but I'd like to let him sleep as long as he can, this morning."

Alan had heard enough. "We need to see him. We won't wake him."

The doctor had his cranky voice back. "All right, but just for a few minutes -- so that you can see for yourselves he's all right." He started leading them down the hall, still mumbling in irritation. "If I never see another federal agent again in my life, it will be too soon."

Alan's hand crept up to his mouth, and Don just stared at the doctor for a moment. "Yeah," he finally said. "I know just what you mean."

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Charlie did appear to be sleeping peacefully, and after five minutes convincing themselves he was all right, Don and Alan wandered back into the hall with the doctor.

He seemed a little calmer, although Don was starting to worry about the man's blood pressure. "I know you just got here, but I'd really prefer that he have a few hours of complete rest. If he wakes and sees you there, he probably won't let himself go back to sleep."

Alan hesitated, and eyed a small grouping of chairs about twenty feet down the hall. "I think I'll stay here. I'll get some coffee in the cafeteria, and then come back to those chairs, down there. That way I'll be close, just in case he wakes up soon." He looked at his son. "Don? Is that all right?"

Don sighed. "Can you bring up an extra for me, Dad? Colleen was supposed to be released today too, and I want to talk to her before she leaves. Maybe she can tell me something that will help us with Charlie…"

The doctor suddenly snickered, and they both looked at him. "Sorry," he explained. "As frustrated as I am, I'm still happy she's not my patient, from what I've seen today. When I got to the conference room this morning, she was on her feet, yelling, and I got the feeling she had been for quite some time. The only word I caught clearly was 'asshole'." He smiled. "My kind of woman."

_Mine too_, thought Don, as they walked slowly down the hall.

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Colleen was dressed, leaning on a pair of crutches, when Don entered. She wobbled, a little. "Oh. Oh. I thought you were the nurse, I'm outta here."

Don smiled. "Good. I'm glad. Do you have just a few minutes? I heard about the debriefing."

She tilted her head at him. "You must know I can't really talk about that. I hope you don't put Charlie in this position."

Don found himself at the uncomfortable juncture of feeling both wrath and gratefulness. Just to change things up, he went with gratefulness, first. "Look, Colleen, I know some of what happened. Maybe even most of it. I…I just want to say that I appreciate your professionalism. Obviously you had Charlie so well prepared, he was able to do what he had to, even when he was on his own."

She blushed. "He's very smart," she answered, then grinned. "Not that you didn't know that, already."

He nodded. "Do you…did he say in the debriefing what they did to him? It's just that he was so upset once when he woke up yesterday, he had to be sedated. He seemed to be afraid I was hurt."

Colleen contemplated. "Well," she finally said, "this is hardly a matter of national security, I guess. They convinced him they had you, and Alan. They showed him a severed ear, and told him it belonged to one of you – they were going to bring him more body parts every hour that the job was not finished."

Don remembered Charlie clutching at their heads, yesterday, and swallowed convulsively, nearly sickened. Colleen watched, then continued softly. "Please don't ask me anymore. I mean, my cover is pretty much internationally blown, and I'm pretty sure I quit my job this morning, but there are still things I can't tell you."

Don looked at her, and wished that he had chosen anger when he had the chance. Now, all he was left with was the truth…and it was painful. "Colleen, you know I'm attracted to you. I know you've picked up on that."

This time it was her turn to swallow convulsively. She smiled shakily. "I'm no genius like Dr. Eppes, but I get by."

Don's answering smile was sad. "It's…probably fair to say, 'wildly attracted.' I don't believe I've ever been so affected by a woman in my life."

She shifted a little, still leaning on her crutches, and her smile took on a tinge of bitterness. "Come now, Agent Eppes. I just told you, I'm pretty smart. Spit it out."

He sighed and looked away. "You put my family in danger. I know that you were doing your job, and again, I'm glad you did it thoroughly enough to keep Charlie alive. But he never should have been put in that position in the first place, and you know it." He looked back at her. "I won't pursue a relationship with you, long distance or otherwise. Now that it's over, you put Tompkins in his place, and quit your job – I can respect that. I just can't forget what this almost cost me, and my father."

The door opened, and a nurse pushing a wheelchair arrived. She took in Don's presence. "Oh! Excuse me! Would you like me to come back in a few minutes?"

Colleen shook her head, still looking at Don. "No, I'm ready to go now." She turned her attention to the nurse and dazzled her with a 100-watt smile. "We're done, here."


	30. Chapter 30

**Disclaimer: Characters from the wildly popular CBS drama "numb3rs" are respectfully, and without personal profit, borrowed.**

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**How Did This Happen? Chapter 30**

After his talk with Colleen, Don took a walk around the perimeter of the hospital. He used the opportunity to turn on his cell, and check in with Megan. By the time he got back to the chairs near Charlie's room, Alan was already there.

He handed Don his coffee and took in his son's quiet sigh as he sat down. Alan sipped his own coffee, and pretended to look at a magazine. "I hope that's still hot enough."

Don took a half-hearted sip. "It's fine, Dad."

Alan glanced at Don, disturbed by the disheartened tone. "Everything all right? Did Colleen tell you something?"

Don stalled for time by drinking some more coffee. In the end, it wasn't really a hard decision. There was no reason to tell Alan about the ear; he already knew there were things about this…operation…he would never know. "Not much," he finally admitted. "Seems my clearance is not quite high enough, or something."

"Hmphf." Alan turned a page of the magazine, and changed the subject. "Did I tell you? While you were in the shower this morning, Dr. Finch called."

Don yawned. "Charlie's boss? Isn't she 'Millie' to you?"

Alan set down his coffee cup. "She's an opinionated woman, I'll give Charlie that much."

Don frowned as he thought about that comment. Outside of himself and his FBI contacts, Amita, and his father, no-one was ever going to know that Charlie and Colleen weren't really married. He imagined that cover would play itself out. It was probably always intended to include a divorce as quick as the marriage, most likely caused by the same thing – the non-existant baby. Charlie was going to have to go back to a school where his students and colleagues would always believe that his little brother had taken a walk on the wild side. Not that they had any clue _how_ wild… "What did she have to say?", he finally asked.

Alan turned another page. "She wanted to know if I knew how Charlie's migraine was. She said he submitted all of his finals already, but his students were disappointed to miss the last-minute office hours he wasn't available for." He shut the magazine and tossed it on the small table between them. Don glanced at it and wondered if Alan knew he was reading something called _American Woman_. Before he could ask, Alan shifted a little to get a better look at him. For a surrealistic moment, Don thought he saw steam coming out of his ears. "She actually told me that migraines have been linked to stress, and that Charlie had no business complicating his life with his 'inability to keep it zipped'." He was fuming. "That's what she said."

Don sat his own coffee next to his father's. "You just forgot to tell me all this earlier? Don't you think we should talk about what you're going to say to Charlie? What did you tell her about finals?"

Alan wiped a hand across his face and sagged in his chair. "I wasn't going to say anything to either of you. He already has enough friction with her, and I'm sure he won't mind if she stops coming by the house. I told her that Charlie and his wife were in an accident, they were both in the hospital, and she'd probably better work something out. Maybe his graduate students can proctor the exams." He sounded dismissive. "That's really her problem now, isn't it?"

Don raised an eyebrow and latched onto the phrase his father had tried to hide. "Stops coming by the house?"

Alan regarded his shoes. "I may have suggested that my son's personal life is none of her business…and…that maybe mine should not be, either."

Don sank back in his own chair. This sucked. He'd only met Mildred Finch a few times, and he knew Charlie had some major issues with the woman both at work, and as a potential companion for his father. Yet Charlie was trying to work through them – for the sake of a satisfactory work environment, and peace at home. Neither son was ever going to be thrilled about seeing their Dad with anyone other than their Mother, and Dr. Finch being Charlie's boss had further complicated things; but neither son wanted Alan to be alone the rest of his life, either.

So far, this day was not going well in the Eppes romance department.

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Over three hours later, after sneaking another peek at Charlie, who still slept, Alan confessed the need for food – and a change of scenery. "Come to the cafeteria with me," he urged Don.

"I'm not really hungry," Don protested. "Besides, one of should stay up here."

Alan stood before him, hands in the pockets of his jeans. "You need to eat. I'll bring you something back."

Don would deal with that when he had to. He offered his father a smile. "Sure. Great. Why don't you get Charlie another milkshake, too? He's gotta wake up, soon."

Alan brightened. "Good idea. You have me paged if something happens."

Don walked his father to the elevator, and then started back for the chairs. When he got to Charlie's door, he decided to sneak a peek himself, even though it had only been a few minutes since his Dad had done that. He was startled to see movement in the bed. He hurried into the room. "Charlie? You awake?"

When he reached the far side of Charlie's bed, he found his brother blinking groggily, and smiled at him broadly. Charlie started trying to move again, working at pulling out the pillows that propped him up. "Help me get up," he pleaded.

Don's smile faded. "I'll get a nurse," he offered. "I don't want to hurt you."

He reached for the call button near Charlie's hand, but Charlie stopped him. "No. You help me, Don. I can walk, I just need a little help getting horizontal. I'll tell you what to do. Please."

Damn. Don was getting the wounded puppy look that Charlie saved for the really big moments. "If you're sure…" Why did that look continue to work on him?

Charlie grinned in triumph. "First, get all of these pillows out of the way…that's it, good. Now, just put a hand on the back of my neck, under my hair, and let me hold onto your arm, so I can pull myself up. Don't let go if I make a noise, okay?"

Several minutes later, after successfully negotiating Charlie out of the bed and walking dutifully beside him to and from the bathroom, Don proudly thought he'd done a pretty good job, so far, for a guy with no real talent for this sort of thing. He was actually getting a little cocky. "So, should you lay on the other side?", he asked, as the brothers neared the bed.

Charlie grunted a little with the effort of movement. "I just want to sit on the edge for a while, okay?"

The slight acknowledgement of pain had made Don nervous, again. "Are you sure? I can get the chair – that big blue one is really pretty comfortable."

Charlie kept his eyes on the bed. "No, thanks. Chairs have backs. The bed is good."

Don steadied him while Charlie slowly turned and perched on the edge of the bed. "You can have the chair."

Don sat down next to him on the bed. "This is good for me," he answered. The two sat there, in a position oddly reminiscent of their ambulance ride to the hospital, for a few moments.

Charlie plucked nervously at his bandaged arm with his good hand. Don reached out and pulled it gently away. "Stop that," he chided. Charlie glanced at him, his eyes the deep and liquid brown that meant he was feeling something deeply. Don softened his voice. "What is it? Do you need something for pain?"

Charlie smiled a little and looked toward the window, although they were not in a position to see outside – and there were only more buildings to look at, if they were. "No. I'm okay…" He sounded a little wistful. "Don, I wanted to thank-you."

Don began to unconsciously shake his head. "Nothing to thank me for. None of this would have happened if I'd been a little more of top of my game." He elbowed Charlie a little. "Now, Amita, on the other hand…she really came through for you. Did Tompkins tell you guys at the debriefing?"

Charlie swallowed. "Yes."

Don waited, then encouraged his brother. "Well? She knows you weren't really married now, she has level two NSA clearance."

"I know."

Don elbowed him again, a little harder. "You sound pretty damn depressed about it, Little Brother."

"Ouch," Charlie protested mildly. "Don't do that – there was some kicking, at some point. I think."

Don winced. "Sorry. Really."

Charlie tried hard to suppress a grin, which Don noticed but did not comment on. "Yeah. Well…just not so hard. Anyway. Amita."

This should be interesting. "Yes?"

Charlie raised his good hand to his hopeless bed head and tried unsuccessfully to tame the curls. He dropped the hand to his lap. "This is going to sound terrible. I know I lied to her. For three solid months. The NSA…I don't know if you know what they had on Martinez, but it looked like they really had to take him out, or half of L.A. might disappear."

Don was startled. This was definitely beyond his clearance level. Tough shit. "You're kidding."

"I was afraid, if I didn't help them, I would lose you all. I'm not proud of lying to you, to Dad, to Amita, to everyone…but I felt like I had to." He started to sound a little plaintive and glanced again at Don. "I didn't feel like I had a real choice. I pushed to get you in on it, right up to the end…"

Don tried to calm him down before things got out of control. "I believe you. I'm sure you were in a horrible position Charlie…the people who love you understand that."

A tear dropped out of Charlie's eye, stunning Don, who didn't know what he'd said wrong. Charlie quickly backhanded it away and took a deep breath. "That's just it. I don't think she loves me. She lied to me, too, Don – for an entire year. And I don't think her motives were quite the same."

"What are you talking about?"

Charlie sighed. "It's probably ridiculous to compare motives. A lie is a lie. But when she picked CalSci over Harvard, she said it was because CalSci offered a better position. She said that _a lot_ – it's one reason our relationship has gone so slowly, at least from my end. I honestly wanted to give her the space to settle in and create a niche for herself as a teacher and researcher… Anyway. When I told her about…Colleen…, she accused me of doing it just to hurt her, and said that she 'gave up Harvard for me'. So she either lied for a year, or she's lying now."

Don tried to digest this, and be the voice of reason. "Well, Charlie…people say things they don't mean, when they're upset. Maybe you should give her another chance."

"I know." Charlie hung his head and talked into his chest. "That makes sense. I'm just tired, Don…and I know how this sounds, but how can I trust her? It's never been easy for us, trying to move from mentor/student to romantic partners, and now… I'm sorry. I just don't see it happening."

Don was silent. After a while, Charlie raised his head and continued. "She's wonderful. Amazing. I may regret this for the rest of my life, I know that... I do want her to be happy. I know every relationship is hard work, Donnie, but are they supposed to be this hard, for this long? She deserves better." He cleared his throat. "So do I."

Don wasn't sure what the right response was to that. He was still thinking about it when Charlie started up again, his voice growing raspy, and tired. "So. You changed the subject. I want to thank you, because during this entire ordeal, you were the only one really there for me." Don started to protest, and Charlie held up his hand. "No. You were. Sure, you let me know what you thought of my behavior, but you chased me down the street when I got angry, you came to my 'wedding', you gave us a 'honeymoon', you defended me to Dad, and even hurt, you figured out that I was in trouble and needed you. I can't tell you how much that means to me, Don. Your support…love…it felt so unconditional."

Don was both embarrassed, and touched. "Charlie. You know it is. I'll always be there for you."

Charlie smiled, bemused. "Funny," he noted in a voice that meant it really wasn't. "I expected things to be the other way around. I thought Dad would stand by me, but you would be angry. You guys really had me mixed up."

"He had some moments, Charlie…but he apologized, before he knew anything was going on, right? He tried to make it right."

Charlie looked away, again. "I just didn't expect it to go so wrong in the first place," he admitted. "He's…he's _Dad_, you know?"

Don didn't have a chance to answer before the door opened and a nurse entered with a meal tray. She beamed at Charlie. "Good for you, sitting up and ready for lunch!" She looked around the room. "Is your other friend in the restroom? I could bring in another chair, if you're running out."

Both Don and Charlie frowned. Don spoke first. "What friend? We've been alone in here for a while."

The nurse looked flustered. "Oh, dear. I hope she wasn't confused by my directions. A pretty young thing, long brunette hair. She was wearing a 'CalSci' ID badge, for a second I thought she worked here…" Her frown deepened. "She was almost to the door before I looked away, and that was nearly five minutes ago!"

Don turned his eyes to Charlie, who was staring back in horror. Looked like the Eppes men were three-for-three, today.


	31. Chapter 31

**Disclaimer: Characters from the wildly popular CBS drama "numb3rs" are respectfully, and without personal profit, borrowed.**

**------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**

**How Did This Happen? Chapter 31**

Alan had decided to bring his own sandwich back to the room with Don's, and Charlie's milkshake. When he got off the elevator and approached Charlie's room, he was sure he saw Amita hurrying away, in the wrong direction. She seemed upset, which concerned him, but he could hardly yell after her in the hospital. It also concerned him that Don was not in the small waiting area. Charlie must have woken up – perhaps something was wrong, and that's why Amita was upset.

He quickened his pace and was soon at the door. He forced himself to calm down and enter quietly – if Charlie was still asleep, he didn't want to wake him.

'_I expected things to be the other way around,'_ he heard his youngest say. _'I thought Dad would stand by me, but you would be angry._ _You guys really had me mixed up…'_

Alan backed out quickly, nearly dropping the milkshake, and scurried for the closest chair. He dropped into it heavily. He felt guilty for overhearing as much as he had, and a little shocked. Sure, he had made his displeasure known, but to the extent that Charlie felt he wasn't going to stand by him?

The milkshake thinned in the take-out container as he heard something else echo in his memory: _You disappoint me, kiddo._ Alan remembered saying that, and refusing to go to the wedding. When he had apologized for the dinner debacle, he hadn't mentioned anything else. He had been so confused by the sudden changes, and taken aback by Don's outright challenge…he hadn't even thought of it.

The bag of sandwiches slipped out of his lap, and Alan didn't even notice. He couldn't think of a time when he had felt worse. Charlie was in over his head in a dangerous situation – at least in part out of concern for his family, no doubt – and his father had effectively abandoned him. He wasn't even comfortable in his own home. And even if it hadn't turned out to be whatever it was, even if all of it had been true – what would Alan have preferred? Did he raise sons to deny their mistakes and refuse their responsibilities? Maybe he had been momentarily disappointed in Charlie…but he would forever be ashamed of himself.

A hand brushed his upper arm. "Dad?" Don's voice was concerned. "Are you all right? You dropped the sandwiches…"

Alan looked up, with no time to prepare himself, and his face was naked with pain. He didn't trust himself to speak, and only looked away again. Don sat next to him and gently removed the melting milkshake from his hand, and put it on the small table next to the bag of food. "What's wrong?"

Alan rubbed his cold hand over his face. "Donnie, I feel terrible. I handled this all so badly. What if Charlie won't even come home with us? I mean, we haven't really asked, and he's kind-of still married…"

Don carefully kept all emotion from his face. "Colleen is gone."

Alan stared at him. "What? What do you mean, gone? I was thinking, if Charlie will come home, we can let Colleen stay in the guest room, until this arrangement plays itself out. A father would take in his son and daughter-in-law when they got hurt in an accident, that would look natural."

He sounded a little desperate, and Don repeated himself. "She's gone already, Dad. When I talked to Megan this morning, she said she gave her a ride to the airport. Apparently the cover story always ended this way – baby lost, Colleen abandons Charlie and goes back to San Diego." He suddenly looked grim. "I hope they think to leave a better paper trail, this time. They screwed up by not having the marriage license filed yet, when I checked for it."

Alan was further surprised. "You checked?", he asked, weakly.

Don felt a little uncomfortable. "Well, yeah. It just didn't seem right to me, from the start. This wasn't Charlie, you know? So I checked on some things, but before I put it all together, I banged my head. You know the rest of the story."

Alan suddenly looked angry. "I am such an ass," he stated flatly. "I was too concerned about my own dreams for him and Amita, and I didn't...dammit!"

Don jerked a little in his chair. That was the fourth time in his life he had ever heard Alan swear. "About Amita," he said, a little apprehensively, "I wouldn't get your hopes up, again. That's not looking too good right now."

Alan sighed, and glanced down the corridor, "Don't worry. I'll never say another word. Is Charlie all right?"

"Yes," Don reassured him. "That shrink guy came by, so I left. I wouldn't count on that lasting too long, either."

Alan looked back at him, concerned. "Why?"

Don shrugged. "What's he going to say, Dad? I mean, I know all about doctor-patient confidentiality, but come on. If Charlie tells him the truth, the guy won't be able to confirm anything and he'll lock Charlie up as delusional!"

"I hadn't thought of that," Alan frowned.

"Merrick said Charlie could speak to someone on the FBI staff. I think that will work out better.

Alan nodded in agreement. Don shifted and picked up the bag of sandwiches. "So. What's for lunch, old man?"

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Alan was unusually quiet the rest of the day, letting Don handle wrestling Charlie's release papers out of his doctor. By the time they got home, it was nearly evening, and Alan quietly trailed behind them as Don helped Charlie up the stairs to his room.

After he had helped his brother sit on the edge of the bed, he shot a quick look at his father, then smiled at Charlie. "I'll go down and grab you something light for dinner, before you lie down, okay?"

"I don't…", Charlie started to protest, and Alan tried to get to the door first, but before either of them really knew what was happening, they were alone in Charlie's room together. Charlie regarded Alan and shifted slowly, painfully on the bed.

Alan started for the door, again. "I'll just get you some water. You should take a pain pill now, and get some rest tonight."

"Dad!" Alan froze, his back to Charlie. Now that he had his father's attention, Charlie began to vacillate. "Are…is…did I…" He finally sighed, and gave up. "Why are you mad at me?", he finished softly.

Alan whirled and stared at him aghast, then hurried across the few feet that separated them. He sat down on the edge of the bed next to Charlie. "Oh, son," he nearly sobbed, "I'm not angry. I'm just so…overwhelmed with guilt…"

Charlie looked surprised. "Guilt? Why? You didn't know what was happening!"

Alan reached up to brush at Charlie's curls. "No. But I knew you, Charlie. I know what kind of man you are, and I am so proud of you…it was wrong of me, to hurt you. I should have been supportive – like Don." He dropped his hand to his lap. "I've lived so long, my _son_ has to model good behavior to _me_."

Charlie blinked rapidly. "Dad. I…I felt badly, about all of it, but my least-favorite part was letting you think you were going to have a grandchild. I'm sorry for that."

Alan smiled thinly and patted Charlie's knee. "It's too much to ask, I know. But if I forgive you, will you forgive me?"

Charlie didn't smile back right away, and Alan's hand froze on his knee. "It's all a mess right now, Dad. I'm not sure of a lot – although I do know I never want to see anyone from the NSA again. I told Tompkins I wouldn't consult for them, anymore." Alan just nodded, afraid his voice would break if he tried to speak in his heartbreak.

Charlie leaned toward him a little and lowered his voice. "I know something else, Dad." Alan met his gaze, and this time Charlie was smiling. "I know I was willing to do whatever I had to, to keep you and Donnie safe. I know I am willing to do whatever it takes, to keep us all together."

He leaned further toward Alan and wrapped his arms around him. Alan's own arms automatically raised, and headed for a rare and mighty son-squeeze. Before he connected, Charlie whispered in his ear. "I love you, Dad. Just please – don't hug me back."

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END

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**A/N: It's got to end sometime, folks. This is the longest story I have ever written, but I may smell a sequel… Anyway, thanks for all your support – hope you enjoyed it! (Silent Rumble, thanks for your patience while I ignored our Howling Thunder tale. Watch your e-mail.)**


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